The crack of the collision was strong enough to rattle the window panes. The deck shivered for a moment before growing still again. In the window the flame of the candle melted into the sill flickered but did not go out.
If one took a second to look at the shaking hands, they would conclude that it was age that caused the trembling. These hands were shriveled remnants of strength long since passed. Skin that was wrinkled and scarred was loosely wrapped around bone and withered sinew.
The office was a square of beige walls and cream colored furniture. The desk was set a precise 90 degree angle to the door and held nothing that was not absolutely necessary for the owner to do its job. The being to whom the office belonged was, in its own way, just as forgettable as its workspace. It was a thin, weedy thing with no gender. Its skin was a matte grey, just smooth enough to avoid interesting looking wrinkles. Though young, it had been created for its job and was perfectly at home in Hell’s structure. The entire subset of punishment or judgement related afterlives took on the collective name of Hell after the Christian variations began to multiply exponentially.