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At Death's Doorstep
Blood.
Red. Dark. Metallic scented. Blood.
It's everywhere.
Drops and puddles of it on the cold cemented floor. There's hand prints and scratch marks on the door when she tried to escape. There's also some on the wall and she can't help but smirk knowing that particular spot right there, at the corner near the hinges of the door, weren't stained by hers.
Amara looks up. Her arms were cuffed up, the metal bruising and tearing the skin. A pale sickly yellow was left on what used to be a healthy honey colored flesh. There's already dried blood marks on her arms. She tried to stand up to relieve the pull on her arms and shoulders but her body felt heavy. Her wings were soaked with sea water and she can't help but wince at the dry, grainy feeling of it as it dries up. Not to mention the scratches and wounds it has. She could already imagine her wing looking off white with splashes of deep red and light pink. What she wouldn't give for a shower.
The door creaks open. There's that ear-splitting squeak of protest of the rusted hinges. May be she could break the door this time.
"Well hello there, my dearest angel!"
The woman in a dark pencil skirt and bright formal suit comes in, she was quite aged, probably on her mid-fifties. Her gray hair that was streaked with white was in a elegant bun. Her symmetric face powdered and she had applied an eyeliner and dark red lipstick. A man in a light colored casual suit followed her in, this one was much younger, probably just in his late twenties or early thirties. His face all perfect angles and his body muscular. But despite his put together attitude and almost spotless face there's a light mismatch of color on his left cheek and a white bandage on both of his hands. She can feel a devious smile tugging her lips.
"My dear Sorin, you look well." Amara teased, her voice breathy but it doesn't diminish the effect.
He looked away and hid her arms. He almost turn tailed and left but was stopped by the elder woman.
"Ah, Mother! I would say I'm delighted to see you but I really prefer the mice" Amara remarked, fiercely meeting the eyes of her mother
"You think, you're so smart," her mother's brittle thin voice echoing in the room, her eyes looking down at her "but all you are is pathetic."
"Pathetic, is letting your shallow bigoted mindset rule my life."
"You could've picked any angel in our realm, a mortal would've been better than that scheming devious snake!"
"Death is kind and gentle. He is loving and every good thing you could never be." Amara spat out.
"Death is corruption of life. Like he has corrupted the mortals. Like he has corrupted you." Her mother insisted with steely eyes, coldness radiating to her blue eyes making it paler almost silver.
"He took care of me --...
Red. Dark. Metallic scented. Blood.
It's everywhere.
Drops and puddles of it on the cold cemented floor. There's hand prints and scratch marks on the door when she tried to escape. There's also some on the wall and she can't help but smirk knowing that particular spot right there, at the corner near the hinges of the door, weren't stained by hers.
Amara looks up. Her arms were cuffed up, the metal bruising and tearing the skin. A pale sickly yellow was left on what used to be a healthy honey colored flesh. There's already dried blood marks on her arms. She tried to stand up to relieve the pull on her arms and shoulders but her body felt heavy. Her wings were soaked with sea water and she can't help but wince at the dry, grainy feeling of it as it dries up. Not to mention the scratches and wounds it has. She could already imagine her wing looking off white with splashes of deep red and light pink. What she wouldn't give for a shower.
The door creaks open. There's that ear-splitting squeak of protest of the rusted hinges. May be she could break the door this time.
"Well hello there, my dearest angel!"
The woman in a dark pencil skirt and bright formal suit comes in, she was quite aged, probably on her mid-fifties. Her gray hair that was streaked with white was in a elegant bun. Her symmetric face powdered and she had applied an eyeliner and dark red lipstick. A man in a light colored casual suit followed her in, this one was much younger, probably just in his late twenties or early thirties. His face all perfect angles and his body muscular. But despite his put together attitude and almost spotless face there's a light mismatch of color on his left cheek and a white bandage on both of his hands. She can feel a devious smile tugging her lips.
"My dear Sorin, you look well." Amara teased, her voice breathy but it doesn't diminish the effect.
He looked away and hid her arms. He almost turn tailed and left but was stopped by the elder woman.
"Ah, Mother! I would say I'm delighted to see you but I really prefer the mice" Amara remarked, fiercely meeting the eyes of her mother
"You think, you're so smart," her mother's brittle thin voice echoing in the room, her eyes looking down at her "but all you are is pathetic."
"Pathetic, is letting your shallow bigoted mindset rule my life."
"You could've picked any angel in our realm, a mortal would've been better than that scheming devious snake!"
"Death is kind and gentle. He is loving and every good thing you could never be." Amara spat out.
"Death is corruption of life. Like he has corrupted the mortals. Like he has corrupted you." Her mother insisted with steely eyes, coldness radiating to her blue eyes making it paler almost silver.
"He took care of me --...
