Azrael walked passed rows of tables lined with the recently deceased. The tips of his black feathered wings brushed against the peeling linoleum floor as he moved deeper into the morgue. In some ways, he liked this place. It was dark, silent, and peaceful. At the same time, it broke his heart to see the still, empty shells left behind. After all, he was the one who greeted the dead when they crossed over. He embraced them and comforted them as they mourned the life and the people they left behind. After seeing the strength of their spirits, it was strange to see them as silent, unmoving corpses.
He had only been there for a few minutes, but
One door closes and another door opens.
One life ends and another life begins.
Such is the way of things.
Until a dead girl breathes again. Her broken, vivisected body writhes in agony under the unbearable weight of life. She screams because she has been ripped from the warm womb of death and thrust into a world that will never want her. She cries because her butchered body has been hastily rebuilt with stolen organs and forbidden magic. Muscles once stiff with rigor-mortis bend and flex as they are flooded with blood pumped from a heart pilfered from a fresh cadaver.
It is rare for an angel to experience something new and Azrae