Within the sixth circle there were screams, the sound of flames flaring between them, the smell of flesh sizzling on the arms of innocents being cooked alive inside individual ovens. Each one had a window to let the Rider see them as they pulled away from the walls of their prisons. The sides too hot to touch, but not strong enough to stay standing, hoping from foot to burned foot before falling once more against the sides as they sobbed tears that boiled even as they fell.
Hair was pasted to their heads with oils that leaked out of the cracks in their dried and and overcook skin. A slow bubbling of fat broiling up into little balls that popped when the heated air filled them to the breaking point. The skin was not blackened, not all of it. Most of their bodies were like the skin of a turkey baked for hours, browned and tender.
Even if they were removed from their ovens, each was already so far gone that they'd die from the heat of their bodies continuing to cook while they slowly cooled.
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