When Angels Fall [GXG]

Chapter 16

The next time Sofiel comes to, it's to the cacophony of raised voices. It's jarring and shrill, and it jolts her straight out of her peaceful stupor, pushing her headfirst into the discordant reality that is making less and less sense to her muddled mind.

"How did you let it get this bad, Abi?"

"I don't – Look, I didn't even know she was branded in the first place!"

Sofiel forces herself to blink through the thick fog of sleep, but the sensation of being turned this way and that is unusually disorienting. It flips her stomach inside out, making her feel sick. So, she keeps her eyes fixedly shut, attempting her best to ride out the wave of nausea to no avail. She lets out a quiet whimper when she's rolled onto her front by gentle hands – Abigail, as she innately recognises her touch.

There's a whistle of breath. A sharp inhalation that sounds like a prelude to a disaster.

"This is bad," a mutter that sounds distinctly male. "Very bad."

Calloused fingers – that are not Abigail's – cast about the outline of Sofiel's right shoulder-blade, prodding roughly in their examination. A yelp escapes her when they press into a tender spot that causes her stomach to lurch, her breath to catch with a hitch – the growing stigma on her shoulder to crawl.

"You're hurting her, Noah!" The worry rings clear in Abigail's voice by her bedside as the pressure abates, allowing Sofiel to release the breath she doesn't even know she's been holding on to.

She is gingerly guided onto her back once more.

"Have you tried holy water?"

"It was the first thing I tried. It didn't work."

"And you didn't think to do a purification?"

There is a long, drawn-out pause where no one speaks. Sofiel gets the brief impression that Abigail is stalling. Whatever for, she does not know.

Taking the short lapse in conversation to re-orient herself, she works at her heavy eyelids, forcing them to open. Immediately, Sofiel is blinded by the bright glare of the light hanging overhead. It sears into her corneas, and she winces involuntarily despite herself.

"I did, but – "

"– But what, Abigail?" The male mortal at the foot of the bed, whom Sofiel presumes to be Noah, snaps waspishly. He gestures wildly over to Sofiel. "We have a descending angel on our hands with a stigma as bad as this, and you still didn't do the purification ritual?"

She watches blearily as Abigail flinches. Her arms curl defensively over her lithe frame, and it makes her seem smaller. Sofiel tries to reach for her. To comfort her. But her body feels heavy and weak all at the same time – like her strength has been sapped and she's nothing but tendons and bones. Her fingers are trembling with effort as she finds that she can barely even so much as lift them.

As if sensing Sofiel's struggle, Abigail turns over to her with a soft, but rueful smile. Gently, she clasps her hand over hers.

"Purifications are not my forte, you know that."

"And swinging swords and throwing daggers around are? We've trained for this, Abi." Noah frowns, and just like the mortal before – Leah – his expression is tight. Dark and solemn. "You've done it many times before. Why can't you do it now?"

"Because I can't afford to screw it up!" Abigail lashes back hotly, eyes shiny and blazing. It's the first time Sofiel thinks she has ever seen her this work up.

As if catching herself, Abigail deflates. The roaring fire that was stoked in her winks out as quickly as it came, leaving behind the ashes of melancholy and sorrow.