Come Hell Or High Water
Like a Bat out of Hell, I'll be gone, gone, gone?
A Cold Day in Hell Annabel and Stella were sitting on a rock. The plain around was typical hellish grey, a field of ash and stone with an occasional sad excuse for a bush, with more thorns than leaves, clawing its way to life. There was no ashfall today. It was frigid, as usual, but this was a decent spot. No smell of sulphur and the ground was almost entirely bone-free. The plain ended abruptly ahead, where a vertical cl...
