Here's something I threw together for my English Teacher's assignment of writing an Epic Story. (Mine is influenced by Douglas Adams)
Not the best, but written for fun and for school.
Enjoy
Diabolus Armarium
(Satan’s Cupboard)
There she stood, a woman no older than 30, dressed in high heels and a dress, and if hair counts, her’s was blonde and curly. She was quite fashionable, and as it were, she was also under attack. Her foe was not the kind most people imagine, even in her nightmares. In front of her was Immunda, the not-so-legendary Dust Dragon from Hell. This should explain why most people do not imagine the beast- they’ve never heard of it. The most dramatic reason for that would be that Immunda devours all that see her, but that would be a complete lie. She is not well known because unlike the more common dust bunnies, no ordinary couch can harbor a dust dragon. Besides, not many people think to clean under the couches in Hell, which has allowed Immunda to grow to a size that no ordinary wife can clean. The woman, Lucy, was no ordinary wife.
You may be wondering what an attractive, but not provocative, woman like Lucy is doing in Hell. The short answer is that she’s going to get some sugar. The slightly longer answer is that being a good wife, Lucy wanted to have dinner finished before her husband arrived from work. Her husband, Roger, was a hardworking American man. So hardworking and American, in fact, that his job was manufacturing miniature American flags. The dinner was a not-yet delicious looking chicken. It was not delicious looking yet because it had just gone into the oven, and most people of a sane disposition do not enjoy raw chicken, but she certainly expected for it to be delicious looking by the time Roger returned home.
With the main course out of the way, and the sides prepared, only dessert remained. Dessert, as you may or may not know, is the only reason most people eat dinner. Lucy had become quite well known in the household as the best pie maker in the home. While this may not sound like much of a feat, please remember that her pies may have even been the best on the street, she just had never gotten the grandiose notion to compete with the other women. This pie was not like the others, though; this pie was missing something important. It was missing sugar, which happened to be quite a bit of an obstacle while making a good, American apple pie. If the goal was simply to make an American pie, sugar would not be as needed. The “good” requirement was the challenging part, and sugar was the ingredient that would make it so. This decade being the 1950s, the obvious solution was to walk over to the neighbor’s house and ask for a cup of the tasty crystals. Not being one to go with less obvious solutions, Lucy did just that.
“But this does not explain why Lucy is in Hell,” one might say at this point. If you were to say that, shame on you, you interrupted a very good story. You should have waited for the narrator to share a somewhat important detail. Lucy’s neighbor just happened to be Satan, though he prefers being called Lou (short for Lucifer). Before Lucy and Roger moved next door, he generally went by the joking moniker of Luci, but the confusion at parties led him to change his nickname. Anyways, Lou was a top-class guy (after all, he did used to be an angel), and when Lucy showed up on his doorstep asking for sugar, he told her he’d be pleased to help. Unfortunately, he had to leave to visit his mother, who was in the middle of a disastrous rearrangement of her living room. The sugar, he told her, was in the cupboard, in the kitchen, at the bottom floor.
Lou was never one to be a showoff, so from outside, his house looked quite normal, except for the atrocious zebra-print curtains. Once one becomes a guest and steps inside, he (or she) would most likely notice a somewhat large staircase, which contrary to the norm on ground-level staircases, goes down. This was where Lucy’s adventure actually began. This is where she began her descent to the deepest level of Hell, a somewhat nice, but somewhat messy place, to get her 1 ¼ cup of sugar. This all had to be accomplished before the chicken was ready to come out of the oven.
Nothing notably hellish happened while she went down the stairs, which were made of quite nice cherry wood. It was what met her at the bottom that chilled the woman to the bone. A lone couch sat in the middle of the room. It was not the strikingly tasteless cow print on the couch that shook Lucy; it was the fact that due to the thick layer of dust, she could not tell that it was, in fact, a cow-print couch. Now, Lucy could have continued into Hell, but she owed Satan a few favors for the sugar, so she decided she’d tidy up a bit. She walked over to the closet, and upon opening it, she realized it was strikingly clean. This only made that filthy couch confusing, as well as unclean. After contemplating the reason for this for somewhere in the neighborhood of half a minute, Lucy chose her weapon. It was not a dangerous weapon, as it was a feather duster (feather dusters are not known to cause deaths, but it may have caused injuries during freak accidents).
Her assault on the dust was going swimmingly. She had cleaned off the top, frowned at the newly uncovered cow print, and then moved to the front, back, and sides, before frowning some more at the rest of the cow print. This was no small task, as one may assume. This was, in fact, a large task, as the couch was much larger than any couch Lucy had seen before (and Lucy had seen her share of large couches). The only place left to clean was the underside of the couch. The couch moved surprisingly easily for its size, and Lucy took inventory of what needed to be cleaned. She counted seventeen dust bunnies, which were no match for the otherwise-harmless feather duster, and one dust dragon.
This dust dragon was named Immunda, though the name was unnecessary, as there was only one dust dragon. Our heroine ruthlessly attacked the beast, but the feather duster caused only as much destruction as it would to most things- none. After roughly two minutes of combat (which felt like it must have been at least five minutes), it was decided that a more dangerous tool was needed. The blonde visitor was able to make her way to that surprisingly clean closet, and inside, she found her personal Excalibur- a very new and strikingly affordable Hoover vacuum cleaner. The vacuum cleaner needed to be plugged in before she could use it, and after many second of frantic looking around the room, an outlet was found quite sneakily hidden behind the closet door. Once the vacuum came to life (figuratively), Immunda had met her match. The dust dragon did not emit an otherworldly scream as it disappeared into the Hoover, as it was dust, but if it would have been capable of screaming, it certainly would have.
This first challenge being overcome, Lucy carried on. She looked around the room, and eventually found the stairway to the next floor. It would have been found without incident, but due to some oversight by the architect of the house, it blended in quite well with the walls. When she reached the door, which was only some fifteen feet away, she noticed a small sign on the back of the door. The sign indicated that she was going from level two to level three. At this point, the woman realized that she only had to go through six levels of Hell before reaching the kitchen, which was comforting to know. She only had five more levels to go.
After another extremely successful trip down more cherry wood stairs, she reached the third level of Hell. Had she not been wearing so much makeup (but not too much), she would have turned some ghastly shade of white. On the very nice carpet floor was a not-so-nice stain. Most stains would not have caused a wife’s skin to become pale, but this stain was different. This was a massive stain, a stain left over from a party hosted by Satan himself! At this point, Lucy remembered that she did not have much time to waste. At that same time, she realized that this mess was unacceptable. She walked up the stairs as hastily as possibly while wearing heels, and returned to that closet. She smiled at its cleanliness, and grabbed some carpet cleaning supplies. This consisted of a bottle of club soda, which was not to expire until the middle of the next month, and a brush. Now that she was suitably armed to tackle the stain, she returned to the third level.
She promptly put the club soda on the stain, without putting two much, and went on to the next stairway, which was much easier to find than the second floor’s. Before you get too confused about why she’s just pouring a beverage on the floor and walking away, please remember two things. Firstly, she is in quite a hurry. Secondly, club soda works after it is on the floor for somewhere around twenty minutes, so the fizz can lift the stain. Lucy was no slouch, she would finish the job on her way back. Lucy promptly descended further into Hell, stopping for a moment after noticing that the attractive cherry steps were replaced by less attractive ash steps. Little did Lucy know that the ash steps were not the least attractive thing in Hell.
Lucy did not know that Lucifer rented out the fourth level of Hell to a troubled man. A man who had been recently divorced after beating his wife severely. This man was currently sitting in an armchair facing away from Lucy. Thankfully, the armchair was not cow print, nor was it dusty. The fairly good quality of the chair was more than countered by the less good quality man sitting in it. The man sitting in the chair was wearing the uniform of the Gotham Bus Company, which was strange, as no company would hire a man with his temper. The man was named Ralph Kramden, and he, unlike the chair, would have benefited from a nice, thick layer of dust. Ralph was a very dangerous man. He had nothing to lose, and he enjoyed drinking quite a bit. The uniformed man stood up (with some trouble), and advanced on Lucy, fist raised. Lucy knew she must act quickly, or she would get punched right in the kisser, and possibly become the first woman to end up on the moon (she had heard stories of this man). Being quite an intelligent woman, Lucy quickly deduced a plan. She had noticed the trouble Ralph had standing up, and had also noticed that, while attempting to advance on Lucy, he was actually advancing some place that would be best named as “Five feet to the right of Lucy.” The woman would have leapt into action, but her high heels caused her to only step into action. Her plan was simple- push him back into the chair. If this was another, more action-filled tale, you can rest assured that there would have been a very intense action scene here, but as it’s simply a tale of a woman getting sugar, there is far less drama. She pulled off the plan with great success, and pushed the drowsy man back into the armchair, where he grumbled, but stayed put.
With the unpleasant tenant subdued, Lucy was able to carry on with her quest. She was pleased to see that the stairs were once again cherry, instead of ash. With that mild satisfaction, she went on to what was to be the most incredible challenge of her journey. She opened the door at the bottom of the staircase to find a room filled with socks. These socks were clean, but horribly unmatched. Lucy shook her blonde head as she realized how Hell had gotten such a bad name.
There really isn’t a fair way to describe the scene that unfolded next, unless the word “indescribable” is used. Lucy was obviously trained in the art of sock matching, and she briskly walked around the room gathering socks like each other, and setting them in piles of similar socks. Never once did she put a sock in the wrong pile, nor did she end up with that single renegade sock left after every other sock is sorted. She accomplished in minutes what any normal wife would have taken hours to do, maybe even days if distractions were present. In front of her, the 100,000 unmatched socks became only 50,000 neatly matched pairs. The only thing that kept this incredible accomplishment from becoming the basis of legends is Satan’s poor taste in socks. Again, Lucy descended down the staircase, to what would be the least challenging level of Hell.
She opened the door somewhat excessively purposefully, as there wasn’t really anything to do in this room. It was completely empty. A bit stunned by the lack of housewifery to be done, Lucy sat on the floor for a moment. It was a nice floor, with thick carpeting. The woman wondered how much it cost Lucifer, and then wondered if it would match the furniture in her own house. After deciding it was the wrong shade of beige for her living room, she moved onwards and downwards. This time, though, there was not a staircase, there was an elevator.
After this very convenient elevator was entered, Lucy pressed the button labeled “7.” She was pleased she did not have to go to the sixth level, as it was getting near the time for the chicken to come out of the oven, and only a bad wife would let the chicken stay in the oven even a minute too long. As soon as this momentary satisfaction of the elevator’s presence was over, the elevator reached its destination. The door opened to a glorious kitchen, with marble countertops, cherry cabinets, and a full stock of all of the ingredients used to make cupcakes. Knowing there was no time for cupcakes, Lucy strode to the furthest cupboard, on the right. She opened the door, and pulled out the sugar, along with a conveniently placed measuring cup. As she poured the sugar, she realized the purity of the sugar, its glistening white color, and the incredible lack of clumps. She would have sold her soul for sugar like this, but she didn’t need to, because her neighbor was the one who often bought souls, and was therefore easily accessed.
She began her ascent back to the surface with her 1¼ cup of hellsugar fairly easily. The way back up was mostly uneventful, since the socks were still folded, Kramden was asleep, and the dust dragon was still held captive in the vacuum. The only thing she had to do, other than conquer three sets of cherry steps, and a single set of ash steps, was to clean up the remains of that stain. The club soda had done its job valiantly, and the stain was gone with minimal brushing. There was no time to be impressed by her own skill; she had to hurry up and get home! Thankfully, it does not take one that long to go up a few staircases if there is no traffic going down it at the same time. She returned to the first level of Hell (which Lou calls “the foyer”) without incident, and left a very thoughtful and appreciative “thank you” note. She walked back to her house, and added the sugar to the recipe, added the crust, and put it in the oven.
At that moment, the clock struck quarter ‘til six (things were different back then), and her husband walked into the door, holding a miniature American flag and smiling like only one who is not a communist could. Lucy returned the smile, though with more lipstick, and then pulled the chicken out of the oven. By this point, the previously unattractive chicken looked delicious as planned, and was ready for carving. Lucy prepared the chicken for consumption, and her happy husband got his fill. He was pleasantly surprised that the dinner was every bit as tasty as dessert normally was, but he became even more pleasantly surprised to find that the apple pie was perfect. If one were to use a groan-inducing pun, one could even describe it as devilishly tasty.
Roger and Lucy ate and talked, and as Roger became less able to talk due to the increasing amount of eating, Lucy knew she had done well. She had braved Hell itself, which wasn’t really so bad of a place, to make her husband happy. She had been a good guest in Hell, and returned home to a happy husband. That moment was unlike any other she had experienced. That single moment she felt, through every bit of her mind, that she was a good wife.
Not the best, but written for fun and for school.
Enjoy
Diabolus Armarium
(Satan’s Cupboard)
There she stood, a woman no older than 30, dressed in high heels and a dress, and if hair counts, her’s was blonde and curly. She was quite fashionable, and as it were, she was also under attack. Her foe was not the kind most people imagine, even in her nightmares. In front of her was Immunda, the not-so-legendary Dust Dragon from Hell. This should explain why most people do not imagine the beast- they’ve never heard of it. The most dramatic reason for that would be that Immunda devours all that see her, but that would be a complete lie. She is not well known because unlike the more common dust bunnies, no ordinary couch can harbor a dust dragon. Besides, not many people think to clean under the couches in Hell, which has allowed Immunda to grow to a size that no ordinary wife can clean. The woman, Lucy, was no ordinary wife.
You may be wondering what an attractive, but not provocative, woman like Lucy is doing in Hell. The short answer is that she’s going to get some sugar. The slightly longer answer is that being a good wife, Lucy wanted to have dinner finished before her husband arrived from work. Her husband, Roger, was a hardworking American man. So hardworking and American, in fact, that his job was manufacturing miniature American flags. The dinner was a not-yet delicious looking chicken. It was not delicious looking yet because it had just gone into the oven, and most people of a sane disposition do not enjoy raw chicken, but she certainly expected for it to be delicious looking by the time Roger returned home.
With the main course out of the way, and the sides prepared, only dessert remained. Dessert, as you may or may not know, is the only reason most people eat dinner. Lucy had become quite well known in the household as the best pie maker in the home. While this may not sound like much of a feat, please remember that her pies may have even been the best on the street, she just had never gotten the grandiose notion to compete with the other women. This pie was not like the others, though; this pie was missing something important. It was missing sugar, which happened to be quite a bit of an obstacle while making a good, American apple pie. If the goal was simply to make an American pie, sugar would not be as needed. The “good” requirement was the challenging part, and sugar was the ingredient that would make it so. This decade being the 1950s, the obvious solution was to walk over to the neighbor’s house and ask for a cup of the tasty crystals. Not being one to go with less obvious solutions, Lucy did just that.
“But this does not explain why Lucy is in Hell,” one might say at this point. If you were to say that, shame on you, you interrupted a very good story. You should have waited for the narrator to share a somewhat important detail. Lucy’s neighbor just happened to be Satan, though he prefers being called Lou (short for Lucifer). Before Lucy and Roger moved next door, he generally went by the joking moniker of Luci, but the confusion at parties led him to change his nickname. Anyways, Lou was a top-class guy (after all, he did used to be an angel), and when Lucy showed up on his doorstep asking for sugar, he told her he’d be pleased to help. Unfortunately, he had to leave to visit his mother, who was in the middle of a disastrous rearrangement of her living room. The sugar, he told her, was in the cupboard, in the kitchen, at the bottom floor.
Lou was never one to be a showoff, so from outside, his house looked quite normal, except for the atrocious zebra-print curtains. Once one becomes a guest and steps inside, he (or she) would most likely notice a somewhat large staircase, which contrary to the norm on ground-level staircases, goes down. This was where Lucy’s adventure actually began. This is where she began her descent to the deepest level of Hell, a somewhat nice, but somewhat messy place, to get her 1 ¼ cup of sugar. This all had to be accomplished before the chicken was ready to come out of the oven.
Nothing notably hellish happened while she went down the stairs, which were made of quite nice cherry wood. It was what met her at the bottom that chilled the woman to the bone. A lone couch sat in the middle of the room. It was not the strikingly tasteless cow print on the couch that shook Lucy; it was the fact that due to the thick layer of dust, she could not tell that it was, in fact, a cow-print couch. Now, Lucy could have continued into Hell, but she owed Satan a few favors for the sugar, so she decided she’d tidy up a bit. She walked over to the closet, and upon opening it, she realized it was strikingly clean. This only made that filthy couch confusing, as well as unclean. After contemplating the reason for this for somewhere in the neighborhood of half a minute, Lucy chose her weapon. It was not a dangerous weapon, as it was a feather duster (feather dusters are not known to cause deaths, but it may have caused injuries during freak accidents).
Her assault on the dust was going swimmingly. She had cleaned off the top, frowned at the newly uncovered cow print, and then moved to the front, back, and sides, before frowning some more at the rest of the cow print. This was no small task, as one may assume. This was, in fact, a large task, as the couch was much larger than any couch Lucy had seen before (and Lucy had seen her share of large couches). The only place left to clean was the underside of the couch. The couch moved surprisingly easily for its size, and Lucy took inventory of what needed to be cleaned. She counted seventeen dust bunnies, which were no match for the otherwise-harmless feather duster, and one dust dragon.
This dust dragon was named Immunda, though the name was unnecessary, as there was only one dust dragon. Our heroine ruthlessly attacked the beast, but the feather duster caused only as much destruction as it would to most things- none. After roughly two minutes of combat (which felt like it must have been at least five minutes), it was decided that a more dangerous tool was needed. The blonde visitor was able to make her way to that surprisingly clean closet, and inside, she found her personal Excalibur- a very new and strikingly affordable Hoover vacuum cleaner. The vacuum cleaner needed to be plugged in before she could use it, and after many second of frantic looking around the room, an outlet was found quite sneakily hidden behind the closet door. Once the vacuum came to life (figuratively), Immunda had met her match. The dust dragon did not emit an otherworldly scream as it disappeared into the Hoover, as it was dust, but if it would have been capable of screaming, it certainly would have.
This first challenge being overcome, Lucy carried on. She looked around the room, and eventually found the stairway to the next floor. It would have been found without incident, but due to some oversight by the architect of the house, it blended in quite well with the walls. When she reached the door, which was only some fifteen feet away, she noticed a small sign on the back of the door. The sign indicated that she was going from level two to level three. At this point, the woman realized that she only had to go through six levels of Hell before reaching the kitchen, which was comforting to know. She only had five more levels to go.
After another extremely successful trip down more cherry wood stairs, she reached the third level of Hell. Had she not been wearing so much makeup (but not too much), she would have turned some ghastly shade of white. On the very nice carpet floor was a not-so-nice stain. Most stains would not have caused a wife’s skin to become pale, but this stain was different. This was a massive stain, a stain left over from a party hosted by Satan himself! At this point, Lucy remembered that she did not have much time to waste. At that same time, she realized that this mess was unacceptable. She walked up the stairs as hastily as possibly while wearing heels, and returned to that closet. She smiled at its cleanliness, and grabbed some carpet cleaning supplies. This consisted of a bottle of club soda, which was not to expire until the middle of the next month, and a brush. Now that she was suitably armed to tackle the stain, she returned to the third level.
She promptly put the club soda on the stain, without putting two much, and went on to the next stairway, which was much easier to find than the second floor’s. Before you get too confused about why she’s just pouring a beverage on the floor and walking away, please remember two things. Firstly, she is in quite a hurry. Secondly, club soda works after it is on the floor for somewhere around twenty minutes, so the fizz can lift the stain. Lucy was no slouch, she would finish the job on her way back. Lucy promptly descended further into Hell, stopping for a moment after noticing that the attractive cherry steps were replaced by less attractive ash steps. Little did Lucy know that the ash steps were not the least attractive thing in Hell.
Lucy did not know that Lucifer rented out the fourth level of Hell to a troubled man. A man who had been recently divorced after beating his wife severely. This man was currently sitting in an armchair facing away from Lucy. Thankfully, the armchair was not cow print, nor was it dusty. The fairly good quality of the chair was more than countered by the less good quality man sitting in it. The man sitting in the chair was wearing the uniform of the Gotham Bus Company, which was strange, as no company would hire a man with his temper. The man was named Ralph Kramden, and he, unlike the chair, would have benefited from a nice, thick layer of dust. Ralph was a very dangerous man. He had nothing to lose, and he enjoyed drinking quite a bit. The uniformed man stood up (with some trouble), and advanced on Lucy, fist raised. Lucy knew she must act quickly, or she would get punched right in the kisser, and possibly become the first woman to end up on the moon (she had heard stories of this man). Being quite an intelligent woman, Lucy quickly deduced a plan. She had noticed the trouble Ralph had standing up, and had also noticed that, while attempting to advance on Lucy, he was actually advancing some place that would be best named as “Five feet to the right of Lucy.” The woman would have leapt into action, but her high heels caused her to only step into action. Her plan was simple- push him back into the chair. If this was another, more action-filled tale, you can rest assured that there would have been a very intense action scene here, but as it’s simply a tale of a woman getting sugar, there is far less drama. She pulled off the plan with great success, and pushed the drowsy man back into the armchair, where he grumbled, but stayed put.
With the unpleasant tenant subdued, Lucy was able to carry on with her quest. She was pleased to see that the stairs were once again cherry, instead of ash. With that mild satisfaction, she went on to what was to be the most incredible challenge of her journey. She opened the door at the bottom of the staircase to find a room filled with socks. These socks were clean, but horribly unmatched. Lucy shook her blonde head as she realized how Hell had gotten such a bad name.
There really isn’t a fair way to describe the scene that unfolded next, unless the word “indescribable” is used. Lucy was obviously trained in the art of sock matching, and she briskly walked around the room gathering socks like each other, and setting them in piles of similar socks. Never once did she put a sock in the wrong pile, nor did she end up with that single renegade sock left after every other sock is sorted. She accomplished in minutes what any normal wife would have taken hours to do, maybe even days if distractions were present. In front of her, the 100,000 unmatched socks became only 50,000 neatly matched pairs. The only thing that kept this incredible accomplishment from becoming the basis of legends is Satan’s poor taste in socks. Again, Lucy descended down the staircase, to what would be the least challenging level of Hell.
She opened the door somewhat excessively purposefully, as there wasn’t really anything to do in this room. It was completely empty. A bit stunned by the lack of housewifery to be done, Lucy sat on the floor for a moment. It was a nice floor, with thick carpeting. The woman wondered how much it cost Lucifer, and then wondered if it would match the furniture in her own house. After deciding it was the wrong shade of beige for her living room, she moved onwards and downwards. This time, though, there was not a staircase, there was an elevator.
After this very convenient elevator was entered, Lucy pressed the button labeled “7.” She was pleased she did not have to go to the sixth level, as it was getting near the time for the chicken to come out of the oven, and only a bad wife would let the chicken stay in the oven even a minute too long. As soon as this momentary satisfaction of the elevator’s presence was over, the elevator reached its destination. The door opened to a glorious kitchen, with marble countertops, cherry cabinets, and a full stock of all of the ingredients used to make cupcakes. Knowing there was no time for cupcakes, Lucy strode to the furthest cupboard, on the right. She opened the door, and pulled out the sugar, along with a conveniently placed measuring cup. As she poured the sugar, she realized the purity of the sugar, its glistening white color, and the incredible lack of clumps. She would have sold her soul for sugar like this, but she didn’t need to, because her neighbor was the one who often bought souls, and was therefore easily accessed.
She began her ascent back to the surface with her 1¼ cup of hellsugar fairly easily. The way back up was mostly uneventful, since the socks were still folded, Kramden was asleep, and the dust dragon was still held captive in the vacuum. The only thing she had to do, other than conquer three sets of cherry steps, and a single set of ash steps, was to clean up the remains of that stain. The club soda had done its job valiantly, and the stain was gone with minimal brushing. There was no time to be impressed by her own skill; she had to hurry up and get home! Thankfully, it does not take one that long to go up a few staircases if there is no traffic going down it at the same time. She returned to the first level of Hell (which Lou calls “the foyer”) without incident, and left a very thoughtful and appreciative “thank you” note. She walked back to her house, and added the sugar to the recipe, added the crust, and put it in the oven.
At that moment, the clock struck quarter ‘til six (things were different back then), and her husband walked into the door, holding a miniature American flag and smiling like only one who is not a communist could. Lucy returned the smile, though with more lipstick, and then pulled the chicken out of the oven. By this point, the previously unattractive chicken looked delicious as planned, and was ready for carving. Lucy prepared the chicken for consumption, and her happy husband got his fill. He was pleasantly surprised that the dinner was every bit as tasty as dessert normally was, but he became even more pleasantly surprised to find that the apple pie was perfect. If one were to use a groan-inducing pun, one could even describe it as devilishly tasty.
Roger and Lucy ate and talked, and as Roger became less able to talk due to the increasing amount of eating, Lucy knew she had done well. She had braved Hell itself, which wasn’t really so bad of a place, to make her husband happy. She had been a good guest in Hell, and returned home to a happy husband. That moment was unlike any other she had experienced. That single moment she felt, through every bit of her mind, that she was a good wife.
