As he rounded the corner that led back through to the main corridor and outside, Ray saw Pride. He halted mid-step, and did a half-double-take, feeling a stab of irony deeper than any he had ever known. Pride was hunched over, crammed into a small, dirty cage made of rusted iron. Chained around its neck hung a crusty wooden sign that read:
WORST: THE WILL TO BE GOD.
Then Ray saw the devil, small and almost hidden near the ground. The devil did not move, but only stared up and over at Faith close by.
Ray watched as a host of shadowy human figures in robes surrounded the pitiful devil in a menacing circle. These began to heap ridicule and scorn in endless, breathless waves. Ray could not mistake the glee and whimsy plastered on their faces as they clutched and hoisted the devil over to the same terrible cage where Pride was bound.
The devil kept completely still, waiting.
Ray felt a jolt of tension and sharp desire to look away when he glimpsed the abject loneliness burrowed deep in the devil’s longing eyes. To look into those eyes, he knew, would be to be pierced through with the weariness of a front held up for lifetimes . . . of being forever misunderstood, and written off, and rejected by all so every clique, empire, caste, and soul could safely turn its back, hum along, and sleep.
Ray felt the weight of blame for every manner of evil then.
He continued to hold still and watch quietly, just as the devil was.
I don't know anything 