Most souls gleam a soft steel grey, a metallic sheen that looks like gasoline and oil floating on water. Souls of the corrupt looked like they had been dipped in crude oil, black and noxious. This soul sat shining a soft white, like fog poured into the shape of a woman.

The gatekeeper thought all of this as he let those in front of this clean soul through the gate, most a deep grimy grey with one or two a pitch black. He had never spoken to any of the souls that passed through the gate, not in a millinia of duty, no matter how they begged to know what was on the other side. Yet his hand moved of seemingly it’s own violation to close the gate before the woman could enter.

She turned to look at him, before reaching and touching the gate barring her way.
“I need to go in.” she said in a low voice.
“You are not like the ones who enter here. You do not have to enter. They do.” I rasp at her.
The other souls wait in line seeming unaware of what is happening in front of them. The woman released the gate and turned to face me, wringing her hands.
“I need to go in.” she repeated.
“Why?…You do not belong there.”


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