[h3]Taelor ↭ August[/h3]

The demon kept his eyes shut, because he knew if he opened them then he wouldn't see the decadence of his past life, but a new and much plainer one. Wherever he had been transported to, he knew that he sat on a bed- a rather hard one at that. With a hand he felt the bedsheets and at once flinched away- his fingers had never graced any fabric below the caliber of silk. The rough, starch washed cotton was alien to him.

"I'll break out into hives!" He gasped as his eyes sprung open and he judged his living quarters. There must have been a mistake. His new bedroom was the size of his bathroom back home. The simple furniture and sterile feel to the room were also strange. The word "prison" echoed in his thoughts over and over. It made him uncomfortable, this new room of his, and so he made haste to leave it. On the bedroom door hung the uniform that his mother had shown them. As he opened the door it fell on the floor. Taelor scrambled to pick it up and threw it on his bed before stepping out into the main room.

In the main room now he found that he was alone. He noted that there were four other doors- no doubt the bedrooms of his brothers. Taelor walked out toward a glass table surrounded by five chairs. Over his shoulder he saw a panel against the wall- its screen black. Before it were five lounging chairs. To his right, though, he saw something unfamiliar.

"What the hell is this?" He said, walking into the kitchen. The royal palace had these- but he never walked into one. He opened all of the cabinets before coming to a heavy cabinet door that opened at an odd angle. There were coils and metal sheets inside. Curious, he fiddled with the knobs on this cabinet and- to his surprise- flame burst from the coils on its surface!

The flames were blue as hellfire but smelled not of sulfur but of something else. He was tempted to touch it but he was soon distracted by the heat emanating from the cabinet with metal trays.

"Surely this is where we can curl up when it becomes cold." He said as he recalled hearing somewhere that the human realm suffered from a season never seen in hell. Where ice and tundric temperatures enveloped the earth- killing greenery and forcing the inhabitants indoors. This "winter" sounded hellish indeed.

Feeling clever for finding a heat source first, Taelor crouched and reached in to the oven, ready to climb in. He recoiled with a hiss, his fingertips seared, for he had touched one of the coils and had felt not warmth but [i]fire[/i]. He kicked the oven door closed and slapped at the knobs to turn everything off.

"Not a place to sleep." He said, pained. Standing he looked for something to ease his pain. The surface of the island in the kitchen was cool, so he placed his hand there for a moment. Taelor inspected the damage- his fingertips were red and they ached- but the skin was fine otherwise.