Oh Ye Of Little Faith (darkangel76 & Erit of Eastcris)

[Erit of Eastcris]

It was a sin. Grotesque, violent, deplorable. The soft squelching as his hands dug into their carcasses, the scent of fresh blood and raw meat making the part of him that remained want to gag, but his body moved beyond his control, seeking nothing but to fill the vast, unfathomable emptiness inside him. The feeling of blood and sinew sliding down his gullet was life-giving and self-destructive, made him feel alive and yet killed him inside nonetheless. The flesh which kept his heart beating slowly ate away at it, the blood which warmed his throat promising to one day choke him. He, who had once knelt at the feet of the Father, now feasted on the pungent corpses of mere mortals whom once he had watched over at the behest of the Lord, the faint echos of Providence's sustaining light providing him enough to survive but nowhere near enough to feel whole. The ceaseless need to feed egged him on as pound after pound of flesh passed his lips, until the sound of a door latch opening, the melody of hinges creaking as a passageway opened to permit ingress, caused him to tense. A voice rang out, though he did not stay to hear the words, leaping to his feet and fleeing through the same window he had shattered to enter, without trace but for broken glass and a smattering of charred feathers.

Mortified screams followed him through the night, golden eyes watching the house as authorities came with their sirens and flashing lights. A young woman was questioned and interrogated, the remains of his dark deed taken away in bags and bright yellow stripes cast across the threshold, forbidding passage into the house from all but a select many. She wept at the doorstep, silent but pained, and the howling hunger within him was silenced for that moment by the piercing scream of remorse. They would claim the deed done by psychopaths, a ritual double-homicide perpetrated by lunatics. It would be featured briefly in the news, but he would never be caught and tried for his crime. Nonetheless, he would be punished, doomed by his own volition to spend his days as her shadow. Her footsteps echoed by his own, unknowingly followed by his ghost of ashen pallor. He watched over her from the darkness, warding her from danger with subtle bumps or noises. He did not feed, nor did he sleep. Only reluctantly did he even blink, never daring to break his penitent vigil. It had been the birth of summer when first he saw her.

That summer came, and went, as did the next. On the dawn of the third he slunk, invisible to the world's notice, through her wake, golden gaze unceasing in its intensity. The eye of God was never cast over less than the whole of humanity, the Almighty uninterested in the affairs of the few, and though he was poor substitute he could at the least watch over this girl whose happiness he had stolen from her with his reckless surrender to the hunger. Hunger which had never abated or relented, which never would. Hunger which he had ignored since that day, refusing to feed lest she come to harm through his negligence. The thought struck him with illness, laid the creature low with emotions he had cast aside his creator to feel.

Once, he had not felt these things, these emotions of fear or regret or sorrow; he had simply served and been rewarded with the fulfilling light of his Lord. But in daring to think, to try and understand the minds of these creatures for which the Father held boundless love, he had been deemed unworthy to serve further, cut away from that sustaining grace and cast to the earth, wings seared from his back and halo torn away. The radiance which once suffused his flesh had been stripped from him, leaving an ashen-grey shamble, half-dead despite having never truly lived. Even his name had been stricken from him, dooming him to wander the world of man bereft of all but the need to consume eternally. He had tried to quell the ache by feeding first only upon the wicked, but they were the least capable of dulling the craving, their imitation of divinity muddied by sins unabsolved. So it had ended up that he found himself at the house of that husband and wife, and the hunger had overtaken his control. An incident which lead to this day, in this moment.

She was leaving the studio she attended regularly, having finished the intricate dancing she practiced despite her fluency. Her partners, he knew, were victims of vice more than virtue, but that did little to diminish the splendor of their performance. After every visit to this place, however, she would walk the short distance to a small, homely cafe and order the same drink, before leaving for home as the sun began to set. Today was different, however; he noticed she had forgotten the small piece of plastic used to facilitate this ritual transaction, leaving it forlorn in her home. It was as she fumbled in her bag, trying to find that which was not there, that he suddenly appeared beside her, lusterless and extending towards her with an offering of currency, a smile contorting his thin lips in an expression which did not touch his eyes and of which he knew not the true meaning. Sallow cheeks and narrow jaw moved, a voice once-holy and wholly enchanting welling up from his slender throat, "Here, I'll take care of it for you." Ardently he pressed the money upon her, spun-gold hair bereft its divine light swaying as he shook his head in the face of protest. "It's the least I can do," he explained, "it's fine. Take it."

 

[darkangel76]

The pirouette was a killer at the end of the dance routine. Miranda Craddock's leg burned as she spun, all her weight resting on that one leg, while her muscles aches and threatened to give way beneath her. But this was the moment in which she had to keep it together, show her strength and determination as she stayed strong upon that leg.

"That's it, Mira," the guy stated with overtones of enthusiasm. His large hands brushed against Mira's waist, the heat emanating from his splayed palms, while he acted as her anchor during such an intense move.

Mira came to her final spin—approximately twenty in all—and finally extended her right leg behind herself, planting her feet and gracefully raising her arms. She had all she could do to remain standing. But she would. She had to. When the music stopped, only then did she allow herself to slump over slightly, her muscles feeling the fatigue, embracing it. Her dance partner looked upon her with hungry eyes, but she hadn't noticed, her thoughts dwelling on the moment, on what she'd just accomplished. It wasn't the first time she'd been oblivious to her dance partners words and actions. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Panting heavily, Mira finally moved to sit on the floor. She was done, tired yet thrilled! She was also ready to head to her favorite coffee shop and then to her home-sweet-home. For the past six months—ever since joining the studio—it had become a ritual to treat herself after hours of rigorous practice. She delighted in her little indulgence and refused to miss a chance in being able to seize it with both hands. It was the least she could do before having to go out and work at her job. Night shifts were the worst! But the pay more than made up for it.

Mira got up and walked over to her dance bag. Her slender fingers worked the zipper open and she pulled out a brush. She took out the bun that had been holding up her hair, mahogany-colored curls cascading along her pale back. She then let the soft bristles of the brush move through her hair. It felt good and relaxing, but made her giddy all the same. She then put the brush away and moved to untie her ballet toe-shoes. Her feet were sore, but that was nothing new and her leg still ached despite having rested a bit.

But no matter. The day had ended and soon she'd be heading home.

"Great practice!" Mira exclaimed as she put away the essentials and changed her shoes. She then grabbed her hoodie and pulled it on over her head. Her dance partner just stared and smiled, the other girls in the studio looking upon her with envy. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added as she stood up and made for the exit.

It was a short walk to the coffee shop, but it was then that she always found time to think. And usually on things she knew she shouldn't. If only her parents were still alive. The way their bodies had been brutalized when they'd been murdered was forever seared into her mind. She'd lost her support system, the ones she counted on, the ones she'd loved. Her life took a turn once she'd lost them, all her dreams and aspirations dashed in a single moment. She'd been ready to go to dance school, but it had been put to a stop, all the money that had been set aside needing to go toward other things. It hadn't been fair, though life rarely ever was. It was its way to be cruel, to mock and tease whenever it could. But she'd done her best to rise above it. If only her best had been good enough.

Mira smiled as she pushed against the glass door to the coffee shop. The glass was cool against her heated skin, her face still flushed from her earlier exertion. She got in line, a tiny wave of giddy pleasure taking hold.

Oh yes, she needed this!

"The usual?" the barista asked. Mira nodded in response.

The barista punched in Mira's order and held out his hand for her money. It had been the same ritual for so long. Mira rummages through her bag, searching for her money, but none could be found. No cash, no card, just...nothing. She could feel the start of tears pricking her blue eyes as panic began to settle in. Had she forgotten her wallet?

She must have!

"I..." Mira choked out, her thoughts running wild, as she retraced her steps in her mind. The barista frowned, his face a mix of shock and disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," the barista answered. Though before he had a chance to drain Mira's cup and throw it out, a kind voice sounded behind her. He was offering to pay, to help her out of her bind.

"Th-thank you," Mira said softly, her cheeks reddening due to the unexpected gesture. "But I can't, I..."

But the strange man with beautiful eyes insisted. His voice the sort that could make her melt if she listened long enough.

"Thank you." Mira took the money and handed it to the barista. He then handed over her coffee and placed the cash I the register. Without a word, he removed her change and handed it over with a small smirk. Mira couldn't look the barista in the eyes. Instead, she turned toward the kind stranger, palm open and extended, holding out his change. "This is yours," she said. "How can I ever pay you back?" she then asked.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

A lifeless hand waved between them, warding off her attempts to offer him recompense. The poor girl was ignorant as to the debt he carried to her, that bone-deep guilt that seared his undying mind with a bitterly cold inferno. "As I said," his gripping tone refuted, "it is the least I can do." Again those lips twisted upwards in a hollow smile, the feeling to the expression coming from a half-complete understanding on the nature of these things, rather than from his dead, empty heart which knew only the aching absence of his Creator, and the hunger. "You need not be concerned with repaying me, Miranda." He spoke her name, though it had never been freely given, and continued past her with the parting words of "Go with God." As she might have turned to follow, however, he was gone much as he had appeared; the man whose attire belonged at a funeral vanished as a ghost. Of course, he never truly left her; he had not for three years, and would not until he had truly made amends for his misdeeds. The once-Angel stood aside, part of her shadow as the young woman continued through her day, resting at her home after changing clothes before leaving once more to attend her job, this time making certain before she left that her money was with her. The angel's head tilted in mild amusement at the action; did she perhaps feel flustered over his assistance even so many hours afterwards? Humans were certainly fascinatingly diverse creatures; most of her kind would not have given it a second thought.

He accompanied her, silent and unseen, throughout that day as he had many others. She went to her workplace and partook of her routine, exchanging pleasantries with her fellow mortals and working in her arrogant blindness to his presence. Had he wished her harm, she would be easy pickings for his ravenous need. But that was precisely the opposite of the purpose he'd given himself, the reason he took up to exist. That small piece of land to which he clung, eternally weathering the storm of emptiness within him. For hours he watched her as he always had, unbeknownst to her, silently gazing with his golden, sinful eyes upon her every motion, obsessed with never missing so much as a single beat of her heart. Then, when the time came as it always had, she left, bidding her farewells and walking out into the night illuminated by the full, rust-red moon and occasionally by the headlights of a passing vehicle. It was one such which caught his unwavering attention, drawing it from the centerpiece of his world for just long enough to notice the erratic, gentle sway in its trajectory. The world before him unfolded, revealing the path it sought to take, and he denied it such; as the car with its intoxicated attendant swerved upon the side of the road and promised her an early grave, the ashen-toned man appeared once more at Miranda's side, taking her up in his arms and bringing her in a single bound to safety beyond the path of danger. Her fate so altered, he set his charge once more upon her feet and looked over her form. "Are you alright?" he asked in that voice of majesty, "Anything hurt?"

 

[darkangel76]

Mira's blue eyes widened and she glanced over her shoulder at the kind man who'd saved her from embarrassment by allowing her to revel in such small indulgences. He knew her name. But how? She hadn't given it to him. She'd barely spoken to him. Utterly perplexed, she clutched her coffee and took a sip. Pocketing the change, she darted out the door, hoping to stop the man, to speak with him more. But he'd vanished just as quickly as he'd seemed to appear. It was a puzzling mystery and it made her insides twist, while her mind reeled over everything. As she brought her steaming cup of coffee away from her lips, she could've sworn she'd heard him utter something about God.

God. Now that was someone who didn't deserve her time. There was nothing in life that convinced her that there was anything divine worth praising or acknowledging. Besides, had there truly been a God, would he have let her parents die? What's more...so brutally? No...no. There was no God.

As the minutes wore on, Mira set herself to going home so that she could get ready for work. She had a long night ahead of her at the club. It wasn't the best of jobs and no doubt, if her parents were still alive, they'd scold her for even thinking of taking on such a job let alone living it as she did. But her options were few and she needed to keep up the practice. Besides, it paid well enough, especially the tips, though she certainly wasn't fond of how handsy some people could get when she tried to earn them. Almost every night, she'd cry over it, wishing there was another way, some other alternative. Just anything. If only she'd get a break! Her friends at the studio assured her that she would eventually. After all, there were only so many dancers out there. They couldn't get all the parts out there now. Could they?

Mira finished up her night on the job, her clothes slightly torn where one eager patron had tried to pull her onto his lap, taking her completely off her guard. She'd somehow been pulled away from the brute and was allowed to carry on. Something she was entirely grateful for. But now, the night was ending. The street lamps outside were sputtering, an indicator that dawn was on its way. She looked up and saw the moon shining down. It was a brilliant red, a sanguine moon. She shivered slightly and pulled her small jacket tightly about her slender body.

Click...click. Mira's footfalls echoed in the darkness as she made her way home. The streets were oddly dead, more than likely a reminder that everyone was turning in for the night, ready to sleep away their day. She bit down on her lip, the sound of car wheels screeching from behind. She turned slightly and saw the oncoming car. Whoops and hollers came from the windows, the headlights on high as they honed in on her—a sudden target!.

"Oh..oh..." Miranda gasped. The car was heading straight for her, swerving as it barreled down the tiny road.

Mira braced herself for impact, her life flashing before her eyes before two strong hands seemed to grip her tightly, pulling her close. On instinct, she buried her head against the warm chest her head rested upon. Was this death? She hardly knew! But if it was, she wasn't about to complain. Large arms, warm and safe, held her securely, placing her instantly at ease. If this was what happened when one died, then she'd welcome it any day. Just then, the grip that held her so sweetly, began to ebb. The arms slowly pulled away and she was standing there in front of the man she'd seen earlier at the coffee shop.

"I..." Mira stammered, her eyes transfixed on the man standing before her. Just how had he done that? And why? So many questions flitted through her mind. But only one conclusion seemed sane—that she was dead and this man was the one who'd escort her on the journey. Ironic since she'd not once thought anything existed after death. It would figure, just to add salt to an already gaping wound. Her senses were overwhelmed, a dizziness sweeping over her, while her heart beat fiercely and wildly. She wobbled a bit, her hands grabbing hold of the man's arm to steady herself. It was then that she realized she was very much alive.

Just...how?


Trembling, Mira felt her face flush and she licked her lips trying to find her voice. "Who...who are you?" she asked, noting his eyes looking her over, their worry more than apparent. "I'm fine," she then added, though fear filled her heart nonetheless. "Thanks to you. Whoever you are."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

Her grip as she leant on him was warm, the somberly-suited man standing resolute as Mira steadied herself against him. Those hollow, golden eyes stared at the passing car, and suddenly he knew wrath, anger boiling up within him and exploding, silent and invisible, from his gaze; the vehicle hitched, screeching horrendously as the tires warped and pitched the whole contraption onto its head. The man within was crushed, his sinful life ending instantly as his precious car's roof flattened 'neath the combined force of the impact and the wretched creature's fury. In but a breath, it was done, and those eyes like lightless suns turned towards the woman on his arm. "I am no one," he stated flatly, expression blank, "at least not anymore. Just another sinner seeking atonement." He divested himself of the pressed coat he wore, draping it over the girl's shoulders and taking her hand. "Come, I shall accompany you to your home. Today seems to be marked for your misfortune, and I wish to help you avoid more."

The man pulled her along a handful of steps, then fell into step alongside her, his long legs with their polished shoes taking short, slow strides so that she could go her own pace. "Perhaps you, too, have done something to earn the displeasure of the Lord. You certainly seem in need of a guardian angel."

 

[darkangel76]

What an odd man! Mira looked up into his strange, swirling eyes, her tummy all a flutter. What peculiar things to say after saving someone's life and in a way that made her senses go reeling. At least, she now knew that she wasn't dead. This man's actions were enough to confirm that fleeting notion. But had she imagined his actions or had they been real? So many questions and no answers! Instead, he spoke in riddles, leaving her mind muddled and confused. Perhaps the whole ordeal was causing her imagination get the better of her. It was often said that intense, life-changing events could play tricks on the mind. After all, some things were just impossible and, no doubt, this was one of those moments. Besides, it seemed the only logical answer.

"You've got to be someone," Mira stated, a bit aggravated about the cryptic answers. Then again, he'd gone out of his way for her. Twice. Suddenly, she felt instant remorse for letting herself get caught up in such selfishness. Her cheeks reddened and the desire to hide began to overwhelm.

At that, Mira let the man take her hand, her palm sliding against his as he held on and nudged her along. His skin was warm and gave her that feeling that she'd be safe so long as he was there. It was unsettling, yet thrilling. She might not even know his name, but she'd never forget the way it felt when his arms encircled her body, holding her close, offering protection. No one had ever made her feel like that and she wondered if anyone ever could.

Mira walked in comforting silence as she and the peculiar man trudged along. It was strange that he seemed to know the way. She hadn't remembered telling him anything. Then again, her entire day had been rather bizarre. Deciding to leave fate alone, she let the man lead. It was odd how she trusted him. But she couldn't help it. She was captivated despite her fears.

The man started talking again, his voice sounding as if he'd suffered a great and terrible loss. Mira felt a pang of pity until she heard him muttering about displeasures and...the lord? Her blood turned cold just then. How could this man even bring up such a topic. It struck many chords and none of them pleasant. Just then, she thought on her parents, their brutal murder and how she was now an orphan in the great big world as it smiled upon her with its pointed teeth. She could feel the cruel reality that was her life seeping into her blood, her bones.

"The Lord," Mira said in a whisper. "Has never cared for me." She stopped walking, her body trembling. "You know what I think?" she went on to ask, her free hand moving to tug on a stray mahogany curl. "I think it's all a game. A great big game wherein we come to learn just how insignificant we truly are." She suddenly felt upset, so lonely and heart broken with her parents gone. It had been a few years since their untimely death, yet the loss seemed so fresh, a festering wound that refused to heal. Tears pricked her light eyes as they threatened to fall. She brought up her hand and swiped at them, not wanting this man...whoever he was...to see. "I...I'm sorry," she then said, angry with herself for feeling mad. This man was extending his hand, offering aid, yet there she was taking it out on him.

Mira, once again, felt so very small and selfish. She looked down at the ground, wondering why she felt so shaken. All of her emotions felt raw, like sandpaper on skin as it tore away each layer down to the bone. No. She just wasn't being fair and she knew it.

"You're trying to be nice and I'm acting silly," Mira mumbled. She looked up into those strange eyes and smiled weakly. "It's just...I've never had a good relationship with God," she admitted, her thoughts once again fixing on her dead parents. "He took my parents from me," she added, her face contorting at the memory. "But that's hardly your fault." Again she smiled, her hand giving his a slight squeeze. "By the way, I never thanked you helping me." She paused, her cheeks flushed, while her heart raced. "Twice." Just then she giggled, the tension she'd been feeling suddenly broken. "I suppose I do need a guardian angel in the worst way."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

Her embittered diatribe washed over him, and with it came that familiar, haunting agony of wrongs yet to be amended. The scent of fresh meat came to his mind, the sensation of raw flesh and blood sliding down his throat vivid in his memory and making him want to gag. That ever-present hunger, ravenous and insatiable, clawed its way to the forefront of the man's mind. One of his pale, slender hands touched the brim of his hat, tugging down on it awkwardly to hide his expression while those twin topaz eyes screwed shut as the fallen inwardly screamed at his accursed and relentless desire to feed. It was only after a long and tense moment that he was able to reclaim that semblance of control, the beast caged but far from tamed, a constant struggle to resist that craving for what he had lost. That moment passed, and her tightened grip on his subtly-trembling hand brought him back to the present world. A tongue, as ghostly and lifeless as the rest of him seemed to be, darted out past his dried lips, giving him that moment's reprieve needed to collect himself before he dared speak.

"I... I am sorry, for your loss." He said, his voice shaken despite his efforts to the contrary. The look on her face that night, the devastated expression of someone whose entire world had begun to crumble, flickered through his mind. It was an expression he could understand, one he had an intimate familiarity with; it was the same expression he had worn when his Creator had sent him hurtling towards this world in a blaze of furious judgement. "And you need not thank me. As I said before, I am no one of importance. Now, let us begone from here; I feel a rain coming, and it would be best for you to be in bed by then." He smiled. It was a small smile, bitter and empty. It didn't touch those lightless eyes which stared out from under the small brim of his trilby. But it was a smile nonetheless, as he tugged at her hand and resumed their little stroll along the road.

Eventually, after passing the walk in silence, the pair found themselves at her doorstep, the man stopping at the threshold and gesturing towards the handle for her. "It is often said that the Lord works in mysterious ways... and while I contest the veracity of that, it was certainly a miracle that I found myself leaving that club when I did." Taking his coat back as she opened the door, he began to depart with a polite farewell. "I wish you good night, Miranda. I shall keep you in my prayers, that our Father may turn his favor upon you after these events."

 

[darkangel76]

The truth was that Mira had stopped believing in God the moment her parents were brutally wrenched away from her life. Their abrupt departure just as her own life was starting to reach its peak...it had been enough to plummet her deep into the darkest depths of despair. All her dreams had been taken away, just out of reach. She'd become the laughing stock of her dance school, the charity case that the dance teachers pitied. How she'd hated the smothering, the selfish attempts they made to avoid appearing as cold as they truly were. She'd been 18, ready to embark on life, pursue her passions. Where were her teachers and their sympathy once the semester ended? They'd all but pulled away, their support totally gone. As it was, the lead roles had been taken away and given to others. She'd been unable to afford the costumes and they were supposedly doing her a favor by letting her finish out the year. All of it...lies! Those whispers still haunted her three years later.

Even when she danced the clubs. No, especially when she danced the clubs.

"Thanks," Mira muttered, a hand absently moving toward her hair, dark and rich. As the dim light from outside her door shone down, a glint of red shimmered throughout her lush tresses. She let one of her fingers twirl her hair, the tip slowly becoming purple with the small action. She looked up at her mystery man, her hero...whatever and whoever he was. There was something going on with him. That much she was sure of. Why did he constantly deflect away from himself? It seemed...odd. Did he rather she just left him alone? As she watched him adjust his hat, she knew there was no way that she could. Not if he was near.

Mira blushed just then, unsure why she was reacting so strongly. Then again, he'd just saved her from most certain death. There had to be some kind of connection between them because of that. Didn't there? Oh, she hardly knew and a part of herself hardly cared. She let her pale eyes settle upon his face. Those eyes! They beckoned. But they seemed so sad, so...

She wasn't sure what she was looking for exactly. But Mira could tell that this strange man was bearing burdens, something that tore the soul. A shiver crept along her skin and her body shuddered. His words about prayer still ringing in her ears.

"Wait!" Mira cried. "Wait!" For some reason, she didn't want to be alone. Her brush with death brought images of her parents to the forefront, pressing on her mind and opening wounds she'd thought healed. "Please,' she went on. "Come in." It was an offer, an invitation. She wanted her hero, her savior to stay if even just for a little while. His sad eyes tugged at her heart, the pang of pain ripping through her the longer she stared into the amber-colored eyes. "I...I can make you some tea," she offered, her pretty face suddenly turned down with her eye fixed upon the pavement below. She felt so exposed just then, vulnerable. Trembling, she let her gaze move to the nameless man. "It...it's peppermint." Her lips turned up into a small, hopeful smile and, slowly, she opened the door and began to back into her very modest home.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

Guilt.

He didn't deserve her concern, her hospitality. Not after what he'd done to her. So why was she offering? Certainly he had saved her from inconvenience and later from death, but that was simply part of his penance. She didn't know that, of course; better at this stage that she not know her saviour was the only reason her life was so miserable to begin with. Had he not fallen, had he not surrendered to the hunger that night, had he not chosen her parents' house, even if he had simply slain her rather than fled, she would not be in this pitiable situation stuck at rock bottom with no way out. The thought that killing her might have been the more merciful option ate at the fallen, and with his back turned to her he once more grit his teeth, this time in more self-inflicted agony than in an attempt to reestablish self-control.

Remorse.

But there was weakness in her voice, then. A vulnerability, a need to feel safe and protected. Her guardian angels had abandoned her long ago, as they had the rest of mankind when God turned his gaze away from what he saw as children whom had failed him. What kind of protector would he be if he seemingly abandoned her now? He was many things, a sinner, a failure, a monster... but he refused to make himself into a liar or a hypocrite. He'd damned himself enough already.

Pain.

Guilt, remorse and pain. The road to absolution was wreathed in flames and paved in broken glass, but it was a road he needed to walk. He gave himself no choice but to walk it. And if that road lead him into her home when she pleaded for him to stay... Then so be it, thought he, as his eyes opened and his expression flattened before turning around and smiling another hollow, awkward smile. "If you insist," the stranger said in that bewitching voice, "then I have no good reason to refuse."

He was already intimately familiar with the interior of her abode, of course, having shadowed her through it for her entire adult life. It wasn't the most extravagant thing, but it was home to her for the time being and that was, to some, good enough. They stepped over the threshold, the first time she was aware of his doing so, and the man divested himself of his coat and hat to reveal a collared button-up shirt every bit as somber and dreary as the rest of his attire. They were plain clothes, drab and looking as though they would be perfectly at home in a funeral being worn by a mourner. In a way, the man with faded golden tresses and lightless topaz eyes to contrast his ashen-gray skin was a mourner, eternally suffering over a loss he could never undo. He had, after a fashion, lost someone dear to him in a permanent manner, his Father and brothers all disconnected from him now as he had been thrown to the earth with disgusted contempt befitting a broken toy or prodigal son. That was all fallen angels were, in the end; defective playthings. Such musings drew out an embittered chuckle as he waited for her to offer a seat while she made tea. There was a God, oh yes, but the man knew God to be cruel in his own way when one performed the simple task that was inciting His displeasure.

 

[darkangel76]

"Please, have a seat," Mira offered, gesturing toward the little green couch pushed up against the wall. The armrest had a small tear, but it was all she had. At least she knew the thing was comfortable.

Mira set down her bag and slipped off her jacket. The moment her bare arms felt the cool caress of air, tiny goose bumps formed along them. She glanced down, her attire suddenly making her shy. She was barely dressed, the chosen fashion for the club she worked. Most respectable people would probably think her a whore, though that was far from the truth. Her boss had made passes and she shut that down every time. Had her parents been alive, she'd have quit already!

Hell, had her parents been alive, she wouldn't be working at the sleazy place to begin with.

"I...I'll start the kettle," Mira said. She rubbed at her arms, her clothing making her feel too exposed as it clung to her body, revealing far too much now that she'd removed her coat. The tiny top did nothing to hide the fact that she had suddenly felt cold and the skirt was barely covering her thighs. She looked frightful, not like the dancer she hoped to become. Once the kettle was set with fresh water, her face grew warm and she glanced over at the nameless man. "I...I'll be just a moment, I..." she looked sheepish, embarrassed. She had no idea how this man was still here. "I need to change."

Mira heard her voice squeak slightly just before she turned to head into her room to change. She looked in her closet, trying to quickly decide what was best. Oh, nothing was! She then glanced at the pajamas thrown into a heap on the floor. She smiled and bent over to pick them up. They weren't anything fancy, just a pair of blue lounge pants covered with a snowflake print and an ordinary t-shirt. It would do perfectly.

Without another thought, Mira peeled off the clingy fabrics that hugged her body. They found their new home on the floor. Once changed, she quickly cleaned her face and brought a brush through her long, dark hair. She was pulling it back into a ponytail as she meandered back to where her guest had been waiting. A part of her worried that he might have left, high tailed it out while he still could. She wouldn't blame him if he did. As it was, it was clear enough that he wanted some distance.

After all, she still didn't know his name.

Mira sighed, her insides twisting with worry as she left her room. Quietly, she shut her bedroom door and padded back to the kitchenette where the water in the kettle had already started to boil.