Tarnished Halo (Angels' Realm Book 2. Published on Amazon) (1st rough draft)

C.T.G. Chapter 2: My Keeper (Rewritten)

I clamber to my feet as much as I can, having to position my feet awkwardly to avoid tripping and taking a nasty tumble. I lean against the white plastered wall for support, gritting my teeth to keep myself from screaming from both the pain in my wrists, ankles, and the pounding sensation beginning to form a headache inside my head.

The silver iron chains aren't meant to be used on mortals or mere animals. They're mean for the Fallen. Because Fallen are immortal, there is very little that can stop us from causing such massive destruction. The chains have a mind of their own, able to tighten around the area that they are clipped together around, like my wrists for instance, and if I try to move my wrists in a way that could cause me to break free...The chains will tighten to the point of almost snapping the wrist bone clean in two, and it'll cause me so much pain.

My wrists move up and down, causing the chains to rattle, but remain solid, unyielding. Growling curse words under my breath, I back away from the wall, making sure I don't trip over the chains in the process. When I glance warily at my surroundings I wish I hadn't of looked around.

White. Everything is white.

White walls. White floor. White ceiling. Even my skin next to the wall looks pale, the kind of pale that would make mortals look twice at, trying to figure out why my skin is so stark against every natural color of the world. As if I could explain in a million years as to why my skin is so white.

A groan sounds from behind me. I try to turn on my heels, and almost stumble face first to the ground, catching myself. I try to right my balance as a solid oak door appears across the cell I'm in. I watch with narrowed eyes as the door opens inward, and when I see who it is, I roll my eyes and don't bother to watch him stroll in.

Angels have this tendency to overreact, extra protection is cautioned at all times. Which is why, even though I'm bound by the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, it's not enough to stop him from putting me in a cell, with a padlock and key to make absolutely sure that I won't escape.

I twist my neck again and feel a bit relieved when it cracks to my satisfaction. I turn and rest my bare back against the wall. The wall feels cool against my skin, as I know longer wear the white blouse and black dress pants that I'd been wearing in the alleyway, before being rudely interrupted. I know he removed my clothes, he's always been known to spread his kindness, even when it's not wanted.

I now wear a slim fitting black dress that hugs my body in all the right areas. I glance down, frowning at his choice in wardrobe. The dress he's chosen is V-neck shaped, showing off more cleavage that I thought he wouldn't want to see, especially after all this time. Thin straps hold up the dress on my shoulders, a built-in bra makes sure that my breasts are in the correct location, and the dress comes down to my mid-thigh. It's almost like a cocktail party dress, one I'd probably wear when messing around with some wicked mortals.

Wearing the dress doesn't bother me. The Angel standing in front of me, however, him changing me bothers me. Alot.

My toes curl just imagining him changing me while I was unconscious, and it brings unbidden thoughts that I don't want to remember.

The Angel steps into the room, and I have to fight the urge to cower away from the light. The light that I used to share, that used to feel me with such joy and peace. He's got more of the light than I ever did, even as an Angel. Yes, I used to be an Angel.

In Heaven, there are a few higher up Angels in three different spheres of categories.

In the first sphere, we have Seraphim or Seraph are Angels with six wings that are flaming feathers, and they never ever leave the throne of God. They use one set of wings to cover their faces, another set to cover their feet, and the third set they use to fly. Seraph remain faithful loyal servants to God Almighty, always shouting to whoever would be near the throne, 'Holy, Holy, Holy'. I swear sometimes that's the only word they've ever learned, like a baby learning to talk. Don't get me wrong, I think it would be nice having six wings instead of one pair, but the fact that they only cry or shout, or scream the word 'Holy', it makes you wonder at their vocabulary and where they got their lessons done.