I miss home already.
15
Iwake to orange-tinted morning light—or whatever passes for it in the Abyss—filtering through the drapes of my long windows. It dances in the glittering swirls painted along the walls, sparkling enough to make me think they could be flaked with real gold. You know, I could believe they’re trying to create a shadow of Heaven down here. Maybe mixed with a bit of Hell, too… Hellaven? Abyssahell?
I still cannot get enough sleep, and it’s an effort to drag myself out of my lovely bed. However, a quick glance at my watch tells me I have less than an hour until breakfast, and I wanted to unpack some of my things this morning.
My eyes catch on the armoire across the room, with its ornate carvings and glistening black finish, and I decide to roll my suitcase over to it.
I open the doors and stare, blank-faced, before frowning.
The damn thing isn’t empty! Clothes of all varieties fill it to the brim, leaving no room for my favorite sweatshirts and jeans, which I went through all the trouble of bringing here. Weirdly, though, these all seem… custom-made to my exact size.
“Definitely some angel magic at play,” I mutter, dragging my fingers over the fabrics. It has everything from the most decadent finery to highly functional desert training garments. The latter takes up the majority of the space, seemingly fabricated to be durable and functional in the terrain of the Abyss.
For a few minutes, I attempt to stuff my favorite pieces inside the armoire, but it’s pointless. Not only is the space fully packed, but every garment inside is significantly better made than any of my own.
With a sigh of resignation, I stow my nearly full suitcase under the bed and resign myself to my new wardrobe. For my first day, it onlyseems appropriate that I wear some of the training uniforms they’ve stocked. Every piece is a matched set of sleeveless wrap tops and lightweight pants, loose-fitting except for the ankles and waist, in various neutral shades.
Before I’m even done dressing, I’m already comparing myself to my favorite sci-fi heroines. I can’t tell if it motivates me or just makes it harder for me to take myself seriously. Perhaps both. And it’s not the most flattering thing on my lower half, but again, I’m not trying to seduce anyone here.
Opening the nearest chest of drawers, I find a variety of boots and leather accessories, all in matching shades of black or cognac brown. It’s not difficult for me to build my own apocalypse style from the pieces. Starting so early like this, I’ll be a fashion trend-setter by the time it’s raining blood and brimstone.
I trudge into the bathroom to re-braid my hair and freshen up.
Looking in the mirror, I struggle not to laugh at myself in misplaced cognitive dissonance. I can’t believe this is my life now. If I were any better at managing my long waves, I might even try one of those iconic sci-fi hairstyles, just to really cement the vibes of the outfit. How am I supposed to fight celestial bad guys without three buns flopping around on the back of my head?
I suppose I should go eat now.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find someone who can tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing today. If not, I guess I’ll take it upon myself to go explore the city. Maybe I can get ahead of the curve by getting the culture shock out of my system.
The hallway outside my room is quiet at first, filled only with the sound of my boots on the stone floors as I walk toward the grand staircase. They’re rubber and grippy, though, so they don’t make the same satisfying sounds that Abaddon’s had. It’s more of asquak squakthanthomp thomp... Slightly embarrassing, actually.
The sounds of the lobby grow until, eventually, I find myself peering over the staircase railing. It’s quite lively at this hour—much more than last night. The locusts move about in autonomy, their chitinous skin andgold armor clicking in soft rhythms, mixing with the strange sounds of their foreign language.
Hesitantly, I head down the stairs, steeling my stomach.
I have the misfortune of passing one of the locusts on my way down, its beady eyes inspecting me in the process. I know Iamthe foreigner here, but that does nothing to help the chill that wracks through my body at the sight of its face, wrinkly and grotesque, beneath the crown-like spikes of its forehead.
Their faces are the dictionary definition ofuncanny valley. There’s some movement to the decrepit skin, but I can’t glean any emotion from it. I can only hope the look it gives me is something of respect, maybe even indifference, and not disdain. Or hatred. Surely they wouldn’t hate me, right? I’ve done nothing to wrong them?—
“Good morning, my Dawn,” a warm voice calls. “Here to shine some of your light on us?”
I look up, finding Dusk sprawled across one of the lobby’s couches. One of his wings drapes onto the floor, while the other is halfway propped up on the back of the couch. A part of me instantly relaxes at the sight of him.
“Caffeine first. Food second. Then I’ll consider allowing your flirting.” I wave a hand noncommittally, walking up to him as he lazily rights himself.
“Are you always grouchy in the mornings? I’m sensing a trend.”
I ignore his jab, instead looking him over. I don’t even know how to describe what he’s wearing. It’s like a ninja-assassin outfit, except all white with gold trim.
I raise an eyebrow. “What are you wearing?”
“What areyouwearing?” he copies.
“Functional training clothes that I found in my armoire.” My eyes catch on the gold sun emblem over his chest, briefly, before wandering over the rest of his white robes. “Do you not expect to get a speck of the Abyss’s red dirt on you?”
“It’s protected fromdirt,amongst other things.” He frowns. “It’s just standard-issue Elohim officer training gear. What’s wrong with it?”
