First Page Saturday: Broken Flight. Paranormal Romance.
Who says an angel can't rock a broken wing. Yeah. That would have been her retort to her current and unbelievable predicament if she hadn't suppressed her sarcasm years ago and if she weren't scared for her life. Life? Pretty funny considering she'd already died. So, yeah, she was dead but she was also shaking in her proverbial boots.
Looking back, life seemed so simple. Death was harder. Death was impossible.
Her arms were bound above her head with a chain, the coolness of the metal long gone and replaced with a burning pain she had to breathe through. She'd been like that for so long. They'd already broken one wing. Had torn the tendon in half causing it to hang limply against her back. She could deal with that. Would deal with that.
She'd been dealing with everything for what seemed like forever. Minding her business, doing her work. Her neck was strained from keeping her eyes to the floor, or the clouds, as it would be, for the last ten years.
She wasn't one to attract attention. Never had been. Why should she be any different in this place? So, yeah, she'd deal with the broken wing. If she flew in circles and made that circle wider and wider, eventually she'd reach her destination point. Eventually.
It hurt. Big surprise there, to find out you could hurt once you're dead. But you could and she did. Her arms had since lost all feeling except the tingles you get when you're numb. Her right wing throbbed. To be honest, she wasn't even sure how they'd broken it. Just knew that her head had snapped back as pain tore through her body.
And while she couldn't name the specific attacker, only because she couldn't see them, she knew he or she had been part of the Angels of Punishment. They were exactly as they sounded. A group of lethal angels. Known not so fondly as the AOP's. She'd hoped never to meet one in person.
Too late for that now.
Her breath quickened as she heard two voices outside the torture chamber; a room where the guilty met the hands of pain. A room made of grey clouds. Storm clouds. A room where electricity coursed through the misty walls, sizzling and crackling with white light. A room that hadn't been cleaned after the last torture session if the red flecks on the walls were any indication. The red screamed in neon and only heightened her fear that much more. Would her blood be a permanent stain like the others?
This was Beyond. A place where she should have met family and friends who had gone before her. A place with happiness. A place with no pain. A place where one could reside in peace. That's what she'd been told. That's what everyone wanted to believe.
Lies. So many lies.
There were levels. There was a hierarchy. There were jobs. There were rules. So many rules. And she'd followed them all. Until-