Garder mon Ame

Chapter Ten: Green-eyed

For each ecstatic instant

We must an anguish pay

In keen and quivering ratio

To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour

Sharp pittances of years,

Bitter contested farthings

And coffers heaped with tears.

~Emily Dickinson

It was with tears, stinging with heat against her face in embarrassment and hatred, that Ardin left the Grim Reaper. And it was with an even greater surge of frustration that she exited his room with him looking so thrilled, so disgustingly elated by her deluge of misery. She suspected, and was almost quite sure that it was true, that his joy was lifted even higher by her sobs of pain, relishing the fact that he was, in his mind, truly the master of discomfort and torture. Yes, he played such a horrible game.

Greed met her on the other side of the heavy door, smiling with what was a bit more tolerable to Ardin, though not by much, a cool fascination as she gingerly touched her black wings that feathered out from her back, raw and burning as though the fires of hell had tattooed their painful blazes in to her skin. And maybe they had, and, through that pain, through the awkward redness of her eyes, still oozing tears, she found that thought comforting enough to face her new brethren.

"What are you smiling at?" Ardin snapped, the discomfort making her ever more irritable.

Greed did not change his expression of grim interest, and replied, "I always enjoy being present when the new angels exit the lion's den."

And, because she was experiencing a surge of dark creativity, she replied, throwing the words tiredly into the air, "Fuck off."

The corner of Greed's mouth curled up into a Cheshire grin, and, his voice elated in amusement, he said, "The Devil is not rude, Ms. Lux." And, as though he said something rather hilarious, he tipped his head back and emitted a guttural laugh. Ardin did not join in.

He led her back inside the elevator, and the closing of its doors locked Ardin inside a world of her own image. Her eyes widened as she glimpsed her new wings for the first time, and she let her fingers gently play over her velveteen feathers. They were much like a raven's, she thought. Nevermore, and oncoming tears.

Noticing her glistening eyes, smile still wide in obvious amusement, Greed said, "Thirteen is so appropriate." He twirled his finger and pressed the button to the ground floor, leaving Grim behind, but Ardin's resolution followed.

They exited on the first floor, and Ardin was greeted by the gothic décor. Tchaikovsky was no longer playing, but Mozart's Requiem was now keeping time to her gentle footsteps as she entered the room. Dies Irae, dies ilia. Ardin laughed at the appropriateness; suddenly, she felt elated, excitement breaking through the pain that sparked off her spine. Dies Irae indeed.

"You've got to be kidding me." Jett was now leaning against the piano, short, muscular arms crossed in disdain. His dark eyes appraised her with venom.

"Is there a problem, Porcupine?" Ardin asked. She could feel her wings quiver, an involuntary movement. It felt so natural, so right.

"Greed, we aren't going to let some lost little girl into our home, are we? Are we going to let her eat our porridge next?" Jett clipped the words and looked pleadingly at the older angel, ignoring the chubby ginger who mumbled, "Mmmm, porridge." Ardin found that she liked him less and less.