An immortal being kept captive in some sort of interdimensional Hell would not be expected to look so good as Sola did.
Oh, he was still very unwell, of course. For a being that needed no food, nor breath, nor sleep, he was still a skin-and-bones ragdoll with scars smothering every inch of his body. His eyes, apparently once dark, and burning with passion - they were faded now, blearily searching for the source of the voice that spoke to him now.
It spoke in a calm voice, a gentle voice. But the voice was rasping, like it wasn't used to speaking like this. And as its blurry owner turned away, it switched back to the harsh yells it felt so comfortable with.
It spoke to Sola again. This time, with effort, he managed to hear it.
"Are you okay?"
He couldn't respond in time; the speaker reached over him to the crowd of medicines and liquids, scattered on his table.
Sola forced himself to speak. "I'm fine...really."
The speaker stopped; moved back. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"No you're not." It reached over again; hesitated, drew away. "But I'll leave you, if you want."
"...Yes, you can leave me here. I'll be fine."
"You've been alone so long..." The way it said that, it sounded almost like a question.
"Another few minutes will be nothing, then." Minutes were like seconds; worse than seconds. Days were hours. Years were weeks. A billion years...alone...
The door to the room shut. Sola rolled over. As long as there was no-one but him, time didn't matter anymore.
But when was she coming back?
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