There was no sense of time. Time, of course, moved so differently in Hell than it did up on the surface. Or even in Heaven. God have mercy on him, he wanted to go back there. Despite how strong his faith was, he had been so utterly tainted. Demonic blood had been forced in copious amounts down his throat. It made him so sick, and it burned viciously when he prayed. Asmodeus, the second house ruler in Hell, was known to have a pet. Someone he worked tirelessly to Fell. It was almost an obsession, the demon's desire to Fell the angel. He was, after all, Forsaken.<br/><br/>Samuel's wings were black. Their pure white color had been stripped away years ago, leaving them tainted with the evil the poor angel was constantly surrounded by. He had been stripped of all holy objects, all clothes. He'd been violated in every way feasible, and none of it had even remotely felt good. It was meant to be a toxic, humiliating and degrading situation. Asmodeus knew that Samuel had been Michael's prodigy. Michael had trained Samuel to be a guardian angel, something he had done exceptionally well.<br/><br/>Samuel was blind. His eyes were a milky gray-blue, and he could only see auras, but never shapes or colors or details. It helped him tell good from evil, though that line was muddled now. They had drugged him and tortured him. Asmodeus had ripped him apart and put him back together more times than he could count. It was an astonishing feat that he hadn't Fallen. No, Samuel was still pure in his spirit, in his soul. His faith was strong, though perhaps not as strong as it once was. For every year that passed, and no angel had ever rescued him, that faith was dwindling down. It was a matter of time before Samuel would Fall, but he was still clinging, still hoping. Still dreaming.<br/><br/>The angel was shackled in a dark room. It was sound proof, and he was in a cage made of some sort of bitter metal. The taste of metal and blood were heavy in the air, though anyone walking by wouldn't notice it. An Angel's blood was strongly addicting, though with how corrupted it had become, it wasn't as appealing. If only he could purge himself. He would bleed until there was nothing left to purify himself. He would bathe in holy water if it would purify his body once more. Samuel wept whenever he was alone, hanging from his shackles. Everything hurt. Everything burned. It was hot, and his throat was parched. His wings were in tatters, and yet he was still beautiful.