It is a little known fact that angels cannot step foot in hell.
Note: this does not mean that angels *don’t* enter the burning depths, only that they cannot touch the floor. You see, the fires that rage below are not regular fire. They do not consume fuel and oxygen and spit out heat. Instead, they chew on reality and drink down order, and the flames that lick up at you are made of chaos-filled void.
This is antithetical to the very substance of angels. If it touches them, at *best* the angels will be spat out as they are forcibly reminded that *they don’t go here*.
At medium, they will be unmade.
At worst, they will be *changed*.
You might think they could avoid this by simply flying through the pit, right? Oh, would that it were so simple. Remember the flames that burn up reality? Hell is an alchemical reaction of exploding space and logic and time and souls. You try flying through a place that is not a place, where up and down can hardly agree on which is which for more than an instant.
But there is a way around this. It was originally discovered by the guardian angel Cambiel. You see, under Cambiel’s protection was a woman named Ruth. Ruth was a shining light who Cambiel cared for greatly.
Ruth, in turn, had a woman she cared for very much. And, sadly, a demon had stolen Ruth’s love away from her.
“Do not follow her,” warned Cambiel, “for if you follow your heart through the gates of perdition, I cannot go with you.”
“Sorry, babe,” replied Ruth, “but I am *very* gay and *very* romantic and that has made me reckless.”
And Cambiel nodded sadly, for all of this was true and good.
But as Ruth walked the lonely, tortured path into the underworld, an idea occurred to Cambiel.
Sure, they couldn’t walk or fly into hell, but maybe they could *ride* there.
Now, a fully grown horse could not hope to navigate the depths beneath the world, for their sense of self-preservation was too strong. An adult horse would flee from the screams of imploding souls and the winding geometry of impossibly winding roads.
But a young horse? With a child’s innocence, with bright young eyes, who had not yet been tricked into believing in its mortality?
That was a mount that could bear an angel (who was, after all, light enough to dance on the head of a pin) into the fearful caverns of the beyond. Honestly, the little horse seemed weirdly enthused about the whole thing.
And so did Cambiel guide a pair of reckless and romantic (and useless) lesbians out of hell.
When the pair thanked the angel, all they said was this:
“Don’t thank me, thank the little horse. It turns out … foals rush in where angels fear to tread.”
