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[Xoriah]

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Xoriah lay on her belly in the grass outside the only home she had known since her escape. Her wings extended high, catching and holding the wind like sails, and her crimson tresses caught and fluttered against her curled ebony horns.

Shackled and filthy, she had crawled through the wretched flaming corridors of the archdaemon’s lair. She had done everything he had asked of her. Almost. She had felt the scorching shame and degradation of his lash. But she had escaped. And now, so had Mikhaeil. With the death of the archdaemon came the end of the flame and lash that tormented his mind.

Xoriah reached out, her fingers gripping the jagged stone rim of the starry abyss. She pulled herself slowly forward, peering over the edge into nothingness, and exhaled in awe of the glittering chasm. These were the moments that she would miss. When she took selfish pleasure in the world around her, and no one was there to see. Her tail flipped lazily in the warm sun and the new breath of spring.

She rolled onto her back, her great red wings spread wide to either side, and she looked over the house – her home. It once sat abandoned, the floorboards rotting, the roof barely offering any semblance of shelter. But now it stood stately, modest, and warm. A home built by the hands of her angel. And yet the time had come to bid the abode farewell.

Sitting up, Xoriah hugged her knees and smiled, closing her eyes in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Mikhaeil had gone ahead with the others, to build her a new home. Grander and more beautiful than the last. What was left to hurt her now? Onward and upward, to Ashencrosse. Xoriah shivered with a hint of excitement. And so, this day, a succubus stole heaven.
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Come with me where chains will never bind you...all your grief at last, at last behind you. ~Les Miserables