After World Chronicles: Angel Awakens

Painful Truths

ANGEL:

The vagrant market is teeming with people and activity.  I've returned, drawn with the hope of  saying good-bye to Laken and her younger siblings. I think the spirit of family appeals to me, pulling on something inside me that makes me feel lonely and vulnerable. I guess I want someone to care that I'm moving on from them to something new and unknown. I want a good-bye, something I didn't get with Lexi or Dante. Maybe I'm hoping they'll convince me to stay another over-day, or ask me travel with them back to their town.  I wonder if I'd accept an invitation like that?  I don't know where I'm going next, now that Dante is no longer with me.  I only know I keep heading in the same direction he seemed to be taking me.

Inside I feel emotionally bruised by Dante's disappearance. After everything we shared I don't understand why he left without a word. Was it because I allowed him to kiss me? Offered my blood? Did my surrender chase him away?  As I remember our all too brief intimacy my body quickens and heats in anticipation of more. I squeeze my eyes and my fists closed as I will the thoughts and feelings to leave me. Even if I can't have that with my guardian angel, there is so much more he's meant to me: a protector, a provider, a teacher, a friend. I can't believe how much I need him, and want him to be with me. Why did he abandon me directly after the Watcher's visit? Incomprehension and denial are an unquenchable ache inside me.

Sven's touch awakened something in me, and I need Dante to help me make sense of it. I know he would be able to help me understand the heightened senses, how to use them to my advantage, and how to keep them from overwhelming me. We've traveled together for months, sharing all of our time, and now suddenly there's a void in the space where I expect him to be. He's helped me hone my fighting skills, both the natural and the supernatural. He's been my anchor after losing Lexi, who was the only mother, the only family I ever knew. He's my rock; my touchstone...home. The misery of this baffling separation is absolute.

As I wander around the vagrant market with a cloud of depression weighing on me, I carefully amass supplies to take with me out in the wild. I spend time considering where I should travel next now that I'm unencumbered. The decisions are all mine. I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance over to see Oda, to my surprise. Her expression is resolute rather than friendly, but I kind of expect that from her. She's not the warmest person I've come across. I give her a smile of greeting anyway. I'm happy to see her, because that means the others are close, and I do want to see them.

"Oda," the pleasure of her finding me is apparent in the tone of my voice, and she frowns imperceptibly.

"Angel," she replies with a curt nod. She doesn't meet my gaze, but glances over my shoulder instead.

I turn to see what's captured her attention and come face to face with the Red Woman. Well, not quite face to face. She's much taller than I am, and she is far too close. I didn't sense her approach. Unease filters through me, as I turn to look back questioningly at Oda, who seems to know this stranger well enough.

Oda looks from the Red Woman to me, and announces, "Sabra wanted to meet you. She asked me to provide an introduction."

I look back to the Red Woman, who is considering me. As our eyes meet she greets me, "Hello, Angel."

Up close the she is strikingly beautiful. Her skin is a dusky rose, and thick black Kohl lines her glowing, red eyes. Her features are distinct, chiseled with an artist's love of it's creation, finer than any statue. Plump red lips purse as she considers me, one perfect eyebrow raised.

She is a tall woman, with flaming red hair currently woven back from her face until it becomes one thick braid that reaches past broad shoulders almost to her waist. She is dressed in a beaten red leather vest, pants and thigh high boots. Under the vest a thin black shirt with long sleeves stretches snugly over her curves. Red leather gloves with the fingertips cut out encase her hands, and a knee length brown leather duster sweeps out around her in the hot evening breeze. She stands with her arms crossed in front of her. Long red talons tap an impatient rhythm on her elbows as she assesses me with keen eyes.