Fallen Halo

Chapter Six: Challenge

Waking up is always hard. The reluctance to enter reality is always too great. You cling to the idea of make believe for just those moments longer before the disappointment of knowing your awake hits. I awoke. The feeling of silken sheets overtook my bare fingers.

 I opened my eyes to see deep red walls in front of me.  The color of blood.

Red…? My room isn’t red it’s blue.

I made the mistake of sitting up. My head exploded with pain. Damn

I looked around, the room was huge. Three wide windows where on my left, but were obscured with golden and red drapes. The floor was a smooth texture, as I planted my feet down.

 The only light came from the crackle of a fire making the room bright with an orange glow. The day’s event suddenly came rushing at me.

Demons.  Death. Prince Nathaniel. Blood. Hundreds of bloodthirsty eyes.

Oh No. This couldn’t have happened. I sat up a little straighter. My head  was a bit woozy, forget a bit woozy, it hurt alot. Believe me when I say I have gotten my self in a lot of turmoil, but never this big.

 My whole body was stiff and sore in every place unimaginable. But most of all, my left wrist hurt like hell itself, no pun intended. I looked around my surrounding. The bed was a king-size four-poster, silky red sheets to match it the rest of my surroundings.

There was a timid knock on a large oak door; it opened, revealing a small woman with white hair and a lined pale face. “M’Lady,” she bowed and brought forth a silver tray basking in fruits and a matching teapot. She laid the tray on a wooden table, something that looked right out of a Victorian Stanley home. She shuffled towards the drawn windows, and began to pull them away, filling the dark room with pale light. She did this with the following two, before turning back towards me. “I’ll have some clothes brought,” she bowed again, and then the small woman scuttled out the room as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. Maybe it’s just me, but is there something weird going on?

The sweet aroma of the fruits was like a siren’s call, making my stomach growl, clearly telling me that it was time to eat. I might be dumb – dumb enough to get myself caught by lesser demons – but I’m not that dumb. Like I really was going to eat the food made by demons, I’ll end up poisoned, or worse. I sighed, running my fingers through my messy long hair, when something caught my eye.

My left wrist was red and swollen, but that was not what caused a stir of panic inside me. Like a bracelet, black-entwining hexagons weaved around my wrist gracefully. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I had got a tattoo, but I did know better. This was the tattoo given to the Queens Of Hell. The tattoo symbolized power, loyalty, strength, and determination. The mark was what the king or future to be king, gave to the chosen bride, and soon to be Queen. And the worst part about this is that it was permanent, unless passed down to the next ruler. The mark comes from a Ancient Celtics people that once ruled England in the times of King Author. 

This was not good, not good at all. But I may be mistaken; maybe I wasn’t paying attention in History of Demons class, as well as I thought I was. But I knew that was impossible. I knew that Angels and Demons alike paid attention to anything that enticed them to do so. And History Of Demons was certainly one of the classes I hoped to gain knowledge from in order for my success in battle.

Looking away from the artful addition to my body, my eyes fell on the nearest window; I was suddenly intrigued to what hell really looked like. Was there really fire and flames? As I got out of the large bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging over the fireplace, and was shocked to what I saw.