Prologue 1
The sound of chiming bells were heard.
“You.”
Gentle hands caressed his face, the hands of his sweet, sickeningly sweet sister, Azrael, the Angel of Death. How ironic, the hands that reaped the souls of the dead were soft and warm, almost as if giving the recently departed reprise.
“Brother dearest, His Majesty is calling for you.” Her voice rung out.
“Perfect, maybe he’ll finally send someone to end my suffering. This dreary place,” His defined arms waved amongst the clouds rolling past the high marble buildings, “It’s always the same with this place. Has been for eons, hasn’t it?”
“It’s what the past Kings and Queens have built, the foundations of what we stand on.”
“Perhaps a revolution would be—.”
A rough kick jolted him out of his thoughts, “You ungrateful bastard, get up. Don’t keep his majesty waiting.”
“Raphael! Don’t be mean to him!”
The Angel of Healing, what a joke. A snort escapes his ruby lips. “Yes, yes. Let me make my way over.”
One curtsy to piss him off further and four great snowy wings bursts forth. They glow magnificently, and with the sound akin to a blanket unfolding, he is gone.
