Bright lights of a land far begone swooned around the comatose mage. She had been laid upon a bed of white, with sheets softer than any silk, and thinner than any cloud, but as warm as the girl felt comfortable with. She had been set in a round room, where windows let beaming sunlight flood through at every opportunity. The white walls reflected the light, and almost made it blinding. Everything was so very white and seemingly so very pure. The only dash of color visible was the arcanist's blazing red hair.
Standing in front of the bed were two men. One of them was the Saint of healing that had taken Clarissa from the mortal hospital, and to a place much more experienced in the art. He stood very tall, with platinum blond hair cut short over his head. His eyes sparkled blue, like the ocean or sky viewed through a diamond. He wore a beige robe over a light gray T-shirt and slacks. The robe was tied around him with a white belt of rope. He was speaking to a man who was virtually and colorfully his opposite.
The man in front of the Saint Raphael was slightly shorter, and had messy black hair that fell haphazardly around his ears and neck. This man wore a suit of black, with a white undershirt and a deep red tie. His eyes blazed with fire. It was a fire beyond the blessed lands they all existed upon, and belonged to a realm far further below. The man's eyes burned with all the hatred and rage of many worlds as he gazed at the holy man before him. The two seemed to be shouting at each other, or at least, the saintly one was to the man in black.
"This is your Last Chance, Lucifer. You've said for a long time that you're ready to come back to us and you've failed at proving it multiple times. This mortal has lost her soul with a type of magic that belong to you and it's your job to fix what you've done." St. Raphael growled in the shorter man's face.
Though he was being shouted at, the man addressed at Lucifer remained stoic in his expression, and kept his fists tucked firmly behind his back. It looked as if he had taken this verbal beating before. "I understand what is my duty, Raphael." When he spoke, his teeth seemed to glisten with the room, and the lights that reflected came to a climax at the end of what seemed to be enlarged canines: Fangs. "It's been bestowed upon me with faith and grace."
"We have no faith in you." Snapped the blond. He gestured to the door harshly, and the man in black stepped out. With a sigh, Raphael turned to the bed and took a seat at the foot of it. He began to work a magic that would awaken the young mage.
Clarissa's head swam. Yelling...explosions...pleas for help.... It all blurred together. What happened? When she first felt the weight on her eyes lift, she tested her vision out only to be blinded by the searing light. When everything finally faded into a blurry kind of focus, she felt curiosity and little more. "Where am I?" she asked, though her voice came out far more strained than she remembered it being, "Who are you?"
"You're in a safe place, dear. This is Celestia." The man at the edge of her bed said. With a wave of his hands, dark blue curtains fell over the windows, giving a calming glow and a less blinding beam to the room. "My name is Raphael. I am the Celestial of Healing."
"Raphael..." she mumbled, blinking again as her vision cleared, "That sounds familiar. The Celestial of Healing? How interesting. Why am I here?" She sat up, but when she did so her head spun and seemed to be spinning around too quickly. Leaning back again, she looked up at the angel above her, viridian eyes questioning.
"Stay down, my child. You've done great harm to yourself." The man said, coming closer to her and standing beside her now. "In your action of healing the Princess Guinevere, you've damaged your soul and arcane powers beyond compare. You've... literally, destroyed your soul." He spoke softly and calmly. There was no need to frighten whatever feeling she could have left.
