Blackened Wings

A/N: This thing has been wandering around in my head for so long now. I think I'm going to like the way it turns out. I hate the cover, though. Dedicated to HatterHarte so she can't just have the imaginary dedication. :)

Prologue

It was exactly 11:59 at night when all the street lamps fizzled and went out. There was a brief moment of silence, a pause in which life seemed to come to a halt, when one single lamp turned back on, the bulb flickering weakly as it struggled to stay lit. The light illuminated a single figure that had somehow appeared there in the few moments of darkness, standing unnaturally still. Even the wind didn't dare to rustle her clothing.

She stood there for a few seconds before silently reaching in her coat pocket and drawing out an old-fashioned pocket watch. She flicked it open and stared at the second hand that was frozen on the twelve. Frozen one minute before midnight. She anxiously looked up and down the streets, the scent of bread and the acrid tang of smoke still hanging in the air. A lone black cat was frozen in mid-jump, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse in front of some boxes a ways away. She leaned against the street lamp and clicked her watch shut, blowing a strand of bronze hair out of her face irritably.

There was no one there.

She ground her teeth in frustration. She couldn't even remember when she had begun to wait out here, in the snow, in the rain, in the heat at the frozen 11:59 at night, just waiting. It would be a lot easier to do if she knew exactly whom she was waiting for. Her mentor had just tapped her on the nose as he laid on his deathbed, saying it was the utmost importance that she wait here at 11:59 pm every night until someone showed up, someone important. You'll know it when you see it, he had said with a soft smile, his eyes twinkling.

She checked her pocket watch again. It was still frozen on the twelve mark, but she figured it was time to leave. It had almost been a minute since she had arrived, anyways. She gave the street one last look before breaking into a run, her feet smacking against the wet cobblestones. She neared the falling off of the floor into one of Venice's famous waterways, and then jumped over the edge.

The second hand on the clock tower twitched before moving to one second past 11:59.

The little boy that lived in the room above one of the bread shops had woken up his mother at exactly midnight to tell her that he had seen an angel.