Born and bred to be queen. Queen of ice and blood, the dark understanding.

Trained for a time by the Hag herself. The Hag has been with us since the beginning. She trained Dispater, though he does not remember it. Now you must learn from her as well. My Bensozia, my Lesser Lilith.

Why there must be consorts, I do not know. But I understand. My love says that there must be balance in a layer between anima and animus. Even the writhing Zariel has a consort, her warrior Bel.

My daughters, he told us. And my son, my Bel. You shall be my eyes, ears, and tongue among the nine. Where they plot and scheme, you shall remain loyal to me.

I don�t know that I believe him, for he is the Father of Lies.

I crossed a burning wood, a lake of ice. They dressed me up and left me at the edge of the Serpent�s Trench. An aching maw. How can I be your consort? You are so vast.

Lady, this is Nessus, a love charm soaked in poison. It is deception itself.

And he was shaped like a man, but his eyes were darkness.

Baalberith, the majordomo, moves like an automaton when he is alone, but among others he is a paranoid spider, terrified that we will somehow damage his beloved Malsheem, or steal it away from him.

I am the dark understanding, the watcher in shadow. All is mystery, and all is comprehended because it is mystery. Because it is lies. I do not need to observe in order to comprehend.

My training was long and complex. I ruled Malbolge for a time, after the destruction of Batna. I was made consort to the thing with the knife-edge face, the quickness, the living blade in the corner of my vision they call Levistus. Spite and envy. My lord says he will become one with his layer one day, one with the waters. It can not be too soon; such a creature must not roam free.

But they brought me to the edge and pushed me in. I fell into darkness, and my lord lifted me up into the night.

You often see me at his side, in his shadow. The veiled oracle. I say nothing. It is not my place. But I am there, and I know. I know the nature of deception. I know the heart of darkness.

Dark, brooding Gargauth, the Kingmaker. His young apprentices, ambitious Lucifuge and Mephistopheles, who was born and forged in power. They bow their heads as I pass. They fear my eyes, which are twin voids black as the Serpent Trench. I have been consumed by it. I sit by my lord, a shadow, a wraith, a pale reflection of him. The moon to his dark sun. And yet, I am more. He says he needs me. He no longer remembers what it was to be baatezu. I am his intermediary, his connection to his people. So says the father of lies.

My sisters. Ancient Baalphegor, canny and inventive, here since the beginning. Dour Lilis, and golden Naome. My brother: terrible, duplicitous Bel. I understand you all, but you can never understand what it is to be me.

I must be everywhere, like he is. He gives me to the Lord of the Flies, for a time. The lord tells me I am being made pure; I become filth, excrement. Only then may I return to my lord.

The Hag brings us an offering, a gift. A return of our flesh. It is named Glasya. I can�t bring myself to care. All that has been devoured by my lord.

But then, then. Then. A routine visit, a tour of our domains with Martinet, our constable. A blur, a sensation of speed. Knife-edged quickness. I am suspended beneath the waters, violated by wormlike eaters of memories and will. I fall into darkness.