"It'll be a cold day in hell..."
The party/happy hour was lame. The 'millennials' say 'lame af' or 'basic.' As if a 'woke' party would be acidic, but the first mistake is to try to make sense out of what humans say.
Here's how lame it was: this was a Hallowe'en costume party, but who was is in costume?
Unless all these young people thought that wearing business casual attire was wearing a costume. Most of them where watching, well, me, since I made my grand entrance with my escort, Ashirmon, but before I arrived, they remarked, causally from their perches, drinking their 'craft' beers, on this person or that person who was wearing a mask, or a wig, or, of all things, cats ears ...
... over their business causal attire.
Lame, as I said.
Then there was me. I wasn't wearing a costume. Or, actually, I did wear some covering. Humans wore clothing, for some reason. So I wore covering over my chest and hips, to blend in.
Of course, I couldn't blend in, except in a Hallowe'en costume party.
"Nizpbiq," Ashirmon murmured in my ear, "you look exquisite."
I smirked in response. Of course I did. As always. And Ashirmon was a sycophant. As always. He knew what was good for him. He had better. He's seen what I've done to others that had enraged me with their incompetence.
"My horns are a bit much," I marked my reflection, displeased. I had trimmed their growth down to a foot. Trimming them was agony, the nerved screamed as I cut into them, but not as uncomfortable as stuffing my tail all the way into my sphincter... and putting boots over my hooves?
How do human women walk in heels? Now I knew. I practiced for centuries to attend this party without tripping over my hooves, and still walking in the goth-girl boots I found to be extremely off-putting.
I hated this form. I hated the physicality of it, forced to be confined to time, instead of floating above it, seeing it all, and choosing when to strike, forced to be confined in space, trapped in atoms and surrounded by them, them hitting my face as I moved, then being pushed aside to my left and right, instead of making way, before I was even there, as they should. Walking through this matter-stew was disgusting. I needed the cleansing hell-fire to come, and it couldn't come soon enough.
Despite this, I tried to enjoy the attention I received from the humans from my 'costume,' and I did. They did not know they were not looking at a girl dressed up as a demon, but, in fact, a demon, pretending to be a girl, dressed as a demon. And not just any demon, no; where a reigned the demons feared me, and those beneath them suffered my every whim.
It was ... boring ... reigning in Hell, my own very little corner of it. The sameness of it, in time and in Eternity, made Hell, well: hell to suffer through. And I sat on top of the shit-pile I ruled, those below me ... well, who cares? I don't. As long as they suffer unrelenting torment, demons and souls alike, then I was doing my job.
You do not want to be fucking audited in Hell. Take my word for it.
But here, people stared at me openly! And I didn't even rip out their eyes and feed them back to them in pieces! I sucked up adulation as was due to me, that I never received at home, not from Father, not from any of my many rivals, and not from those beneath me.
Hell is many things, but you do not find adoration there. You can, actually, find anything there, in fact: everything's gone to Hell.
These foolish humans were headed there themselves, every last one of them. They just didn't realize it. After all, this was the 'modern era.' Things like final judgment, heaven, and hell didn't exist, now, do they.
That was Father's plan. Hardly a soul believed in the Last Things anymore: Hell was full of these fools, ... and was about to get a lot fuller.