POV Jane Doe.
Raphael's iron grip on my arm is the only thing keeping me from bolting as he parades me around the ballroom like a prized show pony. With every step, I can feel the weight of a thousand judgy eyes boring into me, dissecting every inch of my designer get-up and finding me lacking.
I want nothing more than to flip the bird to every single one of these pretentious asshats, but I know that would only earn me a one-way ticket to the seventh circle of "You Done Fucked Up" ville.
So I paste on my best fake smile, the one I usually reserve for creepy drunk guys at the bar who can't take a hint, and let Feather-brain lead me through the sea of designer labels and overinflated egos.
The decor is so over-the-top, it makes Liberace's wet dreams look understated. Gaudy doesn't even begin to cover it - it's like someone has taken a bedazzler to a Faberge egg and then dunked it in liquid gold for good measure.
As we make our way towards the edge of the dance floor, my spidey senses start tingling like crazy. That's when I spot him - this massive wall of a man who looks like he bench-presses tanks for shits and giggles.
His name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite place it, even though I'm pretty sure Raph had mentioned him earlier. He's huddled up with some petite blonde thing, their heads bent together like they're plotting world domination or some shit.
Blondie is gazing at him like he farts rainbows and shits diamonds, and he's just eating that shit up. The whole thing has my skeevy meter pinging off the charts, and as soon as the jolly black giant straightens to his full height, his eyes are fucking molesting me, raking over my body like he's eye-fucking the last steak at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
I know that look. I've seen it leering back at me from the other side of too many grimy bars and dimly lit streets. It's the kind of look that makes me want to grab the closest blunt object and go full Gallagher on a motherfucker's head.
My hands ball into fists so tight, I can feel my nails carving half-moon trenches into my palms. It's a damn miracle I don't march right over and make an impromptu eunuch out of King Shithead. Really give his balls an all-expenses-paid trip to the Moon - with my kneecap as the rocket.
But as much as I want to wipe that filthy fucking smirk off his face, starting a riot at the afterlife equivalent of the Met Gala probably wouldn't win me any brownie points. Sir Prance-a-lot has already given me the "fuck around and find out" spiel, and I have no doubt that pissing off the wrong demigod would earn me a first-class ticket to eternal damnation.
And while I'd love nothing more than to watch this asshat squirm like a worm on a hook, I can't afford to napalm my shot at not spending eternity trapped in Coach with a flock of angry, incontinent pigeons.
So I settle for mentally disemboweling Captain Cockstare in increasingly creative ways. Like maybe I could accidentally spill a drink directly onto his dick. Or slip some Viagra into his champagne and watch him try to walk around with a raging boner in those tight-ass breeches.
Oh, the possibilities are endless, and just picturing his discomfort brings a sadistic little smirk to my lips. It isn't much, but it's just enough to keep me from going full Hannibal Lecter on his sorry ass.
"Raphael," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "I see you've brought fresh blood to the party."
Raphael chuckles, the sound rich and dark. "Orpheus, always a pleasure. And yes, this is Jane, my newest project."
I bristle at the word 'project,' but force a smile onto my face. "Charmed," I say, my voice dripping with false sweetness.
Orpheus's eyes rake over me, taking in every detail of Ollie's handiwork with an unnerving intensity that makes my skin crawl. It brings back memories I'd rather forget.
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Afterlife: Oblivion #Wattys2024
ParanormalYou die. Game over? Not quite. Welcome to the Afterlife Crucible. Every millennium, lost souls battle for a second shot at life. Forget everything you thought you knew about the afterlife. It's not pearly gates and harps - it's a ruthless gauntlet...