Mid-Week Words

I've lost count of how many times I've tried a posting schedule. Honestly, my life is not a stable thing at all this year, its ever turbulent, and I'm quite happy with that. But words are a constant, in any shape and form, words are always happening. I won't trouble you with any from work, unless you want a lecture about optical care or proper dental hygiene, but I would like to reveal bits of myself through my works and my thoughts.

from the Journal, entry dated 8/9/2013-
I wanted to leave because I felt as if I had nothing left but ghosts haunting my walls. 
But maybe not.
My personal spirits are like those of reality - they can only enter if I allow them. Lately, I have been, but I don't have to.
I can banish them if I please.

from the Sigil of Azazel, chapter 4-
"Who is it this time?"
"Abadon."
Azazel's head drew back, fists clenched as his muscles grew tight, and his breathing seemed to stop as his brilliant mind tried in vain to assess the situation, but it could not divine a solution, only a terrible chill which seemed to sink deep into his ancient bones. 
"When? How?"
"An hour ago, at most," the Satan spoke, lips closing together in a thin, pale line as he rose from his throne and lead the way to the Northern passage, the perfectly smooth stone narrowing as it curved higher towards the surface, small lanterns of yellowing light dotting their otherwise unmarred surface. 
"As for how," Lucifer continued, pausing to cough as a cold breeze whipped through the air around them, causing the lights to flicker. Azazel's gait paused at what to most would have been a harmless chill, but the Fell was not like most places. For one, it existed entirely and self-sustainably below surface. There were no cold breezes. As they moved further up the ascending path, the temperature dropped further still, and the Duke of the Fell growled lightly in disgust as he was forced to put the scarf, still tacky with incubus blood, over his nose and mouth to ward off the toxic air. Lucifer turned towards the gates of the high security section, his hand holding the sleeve of his robe in a similar fashion. 
They stopped at the cell that had once been marked with the Sigil of Abadon. The door was gone, as was much of the cell, and the stone above it.
Lucifer coughed again before he finished, "he seems to have gone up."Azazel had witnessed many break outs, and they had always involved the use of a door. Because above them was not only hundreds of feet of natural stone bedrock, but the toxic remains of what had once been the home to an immortal race. Azazel could see the sky for the first time in two millenia. It burned red with no oxygen to sustain it, clouds the poisonous yellow of sulfur. The next moment, it was gone. Azazel blinked, only now realizing that he and his King were surrounded by Moloch, the Jailer, and Panem, the lead Architect, as well as their dozen or so underlings. The hole was patched and sealed before Azazel had even noticed they were working, and it was a sight he was glad to be rid of.