Sheba's a pan-dimensional pirate, foot to the floor, taking all she can from this shade world, while she remains here. Soul harvester. Loving the swing and swerve of this place. Of the clumsy machine she acquired. Air reeking of sour brimstone. Wailings of the damned.
Her disguise slips but briefly. Glimpsed horns. Nasty grin, all teeth. She isn't concerned. No one ever believes the horror they've seen.
She re-composes her mask, removes her one eye from the flatworlder road, relishes the slow thumping of her heart, and checks new email. The buyer willing to sign, his life, his children's, for the cramped box in the sky.
Okay, so it's only my artistic impression of what the entity perhaps be. Am on vacation, at last, y'see. Needed a free writing exercise.
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