The air in Despair's realm is always heavy — a slow, suffocating weight that clings to skin and thought alike. The mirrors drift in their endless spiral, each surface warping with visions of broken hearts, failed dreams, and quiet endings.
Dark POV:
Despair sits beside me, posture slouched, her unblinking eyes fixed on the glass. The ringed hook in her hand dangles idly, almost forgotten.
We've been sitting here for some time.The mirror before us — taller than a cathedral door, its edges framed in rusted silver — shimmers with the scene we've been following.
Samaela walks the marble path toward the council chamber, her wings drawn close, each step measured and deliberate. The angels lining her route bow in perfect formation, but I see it — the hesitation in their eyes, the stiffness in their posture. Respect laced with unease.
Behind her, they follow.Not all at once, not in a loud procession, but in a steady, quiet stream — her chosen. Azazel at her right, Beelzebub at her left, and hundreds more trailing in orderly ranks. Their presence says nothing aloud, yet it speaks volumes.
"Ah… here comes the good part," I murmur with a low chuckle, leaning forward until the glass all but fills my vision.
"Let's see…" I begin, voice dripping with an old, familiar mockery. "The one practically glowing, with the flowing golden hair — Michael. Samaela's perfect, self-righteous twin brother."
My gaze shifts. "The one with the dark hair is Gabriel, the Hornblower. Loud in every way that matters… and every way that doesn't."
The green-winged angel beside him catches the light in an almost painful way. "Raphael. Always so fond of healing what should've been left to bleed."
At the far end, a spear gleams under Heaven's light. "Uriel. All cold precision and sharper edges."
The towering gates of the council chamber loom ahead of Samaela now, spilling liquid gold light across the path. The elite archangels stand like a living wall, their eyes sharp, their halos cold.
Samaela's expression is calm — too calm. That kind of stillness doesn't come from peace. It comes from decision, the kind carved deep enough into the soul that nothing can undo it.
Somewhere beyond those gates sits the Presence.
I grin faintly. "This should be interesting."