The thought of going back up to the
attic was making me feel sick, I could still feel the pain of steel-like,
sharpest claws being dragged along the side of my head, creating the gash, and
the crimson blood pouring out. But I had no other choice.
I stepped up into the attic. I had
figured out that for some reason, the angels would only appear to me.
The haystack was there, with the
twisted corpse of the dead angel lying in it. The thirteen angels were all
there, turning to stare at me again.
I was losing my nerves. This time
they’d kill me. This time I wouldn’t go back down alive.
Breathing in the stale, filthy air, I
was resisting the urge to be sick. I slipped past the angels, over to the dead
angel, grabbing a handful of the dirty white feathers on her wings and tugging
on them to pull them out.
One of the thirteen angels that were
alive lashed out at me, striking my face with her claws, which were silver and
unbelievably sharp. A burst of intense pain shot through my already shattered
I hurriedly shoved the feathers into
the pockets of my jumper and tried to get past the angels again.
The tallest angel gave a harsh, hard,
manic laugh that sounded like a shriek of pain. I could only tell it was a
laugh because of her black eyes, which were gleaming crimson-edged and glowing
like hell’s coals, with pleasure.