At my basest level, Rémi says, I am lazy. The water would trickle over me, the moss would spread across my skin, and my flesh would descend into its progenitor; to pass the time.

But no, I tell him, Hell is boredom, Hell is stasis, Hell is what is when naught is, and this is where our Hell begins.

He nods, and we both sit back and watch the fire consume us.
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