Angel - 4

His wings fluttered about the room, sending feathers bounding into the ground. Charlotte reached down and grabbed one, her blue hair cascading down her shoulders like some sort of deep blue waterfall.

A moment passed as Gabriel watched and Charlotte painted. A simple one, of the sword that hung from Gabriel's waist. 

Lines started to appear, distinguishing it from the white of the canvas, creating such a beauty that it needed only color to be completed.

But the most wonderful thing about it, a certain mystique, created with the feather she had picked up and dipped in her ink.

A moment, two, and Charlotte reached out, her hand grasping the lines of the painting. Only for it to come to life, as blood drained from her finger and fell to the floor.

Her eyes glazed over as she found herself grasping the sharpened edge of the sword she held. A gasp echoed from her lips and brought her back to reality. 

Slowly she placed it over the floor, then picked it up from the hilt.

"It's so light…" She breathed out, swinging it around like some sort of paper. Of course a moment later it started to unravel, black lines fading into the background, and so too did the colors.

Everything faded until Charlotte was faced with nothing more than air. Her hand grasped the empty space once more, perhaps searching for it, for if the reality had been true or not.

But when she looked at the blank canvas, at the used feather. Charlotte smiled, turned and leaped at Gabriel.

Of course this was unexpected, as even with his reflexes, Gabriel fell to the floor. All smothered by the hug that Charlotte was giving him.

"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you."

She continued to ramble on, too excited by her success to even think about what she was doing. But it was too amusing to Gabriel. 

He just snickered lightly, causing Charlotte to find the reality of what she was doing. Of her breasts pushed against his face, and her head in the crook of his shoulder.

How she even managed that was quite a mystery.

But it was a mystery for another time as soon after she turned red, and squealed like some sort of tea kettle.

"Ah- em-" She stuttered again and again. Eliciting a friendly chuckle from Gabriel.

There was a knock on the door that broke them both from the little standstill they had been in.

"I'll get it." Gabriel offered, letting her take a seat and calm herself down while he answered whoever was at the door.

It knocked again, they were quite impatient as Gabriel was grasping at the doorknob the literal second that they knocked.

And so, feeling a bit mischievous Gabriel opened the door as swiftly as he could and pulled the person in.

As in the second that it was open he got a good look at who it was. 

"Rosa," He tilted his head, "I thought you were still out with the others."

Gabriel fussed over her, checking for injuries or signs of any. But when he didn't find any he found himself grasped lightly by the nape of his shirt and pulled into her lap.

She lightly pet his hair while watching the blue haired girl that stood stock still at the other side of the room. Cradling the art supplies to herself.

Frantically looking from the angel, who puffed his cheeks out at the treatment, to the women who looked like such a hardass.

But then she steadied herself and greeted her. Both of them introduced themselves before Gabriel was dragged from the room. Though not before shooting one of his feathers at Charlotte, giving her one last parting gift.

…

…

…

The feather rolled through her hands, scattering fluffy particles through her hand. Reminding Charlotte of the boy she had painted. Of the gift the angel had given her.

She twisted it once more before placing it into her cloak, her hand ghosting over the bare air and bringing forth a screen only she could see.

[Charlotte]

[2]

(50/200)

[HP: 100]

[MP: 100]

[strength: 1(1)]

[dexterity: 1(1)]

[vitality: 1(1)]

[intelligence: 1(1)]

[SP: 2]

[Traits:]

[Epic Trait: Born of paint - bathed in paint, given life by paint, the arts are in your blood and so too is the lifeblood of ink. Every drop of mana, every iota of stamina burdened on the body, all placed towards the arts. A talent beaten by none among this realm.]

…

…

…

Charlotte once more placed her hand over the railing, toiling her body towards another room. Where she could finally collapse.

Yet even then she found herself drenched in sweat, her heart beating faster than she could have ever imagined.

"Charlotte?" A voice echoed through the hall, in the one place she had thought safe. Where this wench did not know she frequented.

'It was only a matter of time' Charlotte thought to herself, sighing as she turned her matted gaze over to the man standing across from her. 

He blocked her entrance to her room, where she had thought herself safe. 

"Ye- Yes" She stuttered out, her voice inexplicably weak for some reason. 

Once again Charlotte touched the feather she had been given, and despite the comfort and warmth it gave she couldn't help the shivering that it caused.

"No need to be nervous~" He sang out, his lashes fluttering in her direction. His hand placed along her shoulder.

Charlotte flinched, trying to back up but the strength of his touch kept her there. And moments later brought her to the banister, where an errant bench was placed.

She was forced to sit down, her small frame feeling even smaller under the scrutiny of the man looking down on her.

His hand touched her forehead and a hiccup echoed through her, almost ending in tears. But she persevered, trying to stay calm despite the panic she felt.

"Don't worry" He whispered, "Everything will be fine… everything…"

And with that he grabbed her wrist, pulling her from the bench and away from her room, away from the safety it gave her.

Her hand once again went to the feather but it was grabbed. Looking up she found the gray eyes of the man looking down on her with infuriating anger.

"What is that you seem to be so attached to?"

He reached down, groping her breasts as he did so, and into her cloak. Once again she squicked and tried to get him to let go but his grip still held tight to her.

"A feather!" He laughed, "Some punk give you this gift or something."

He tightly held onto the feather only to grab the other end and strip it down until only the spine of it was left.

Visible tears left Charlotte's eyes as she watched that happen. The only gift she had ever been given in this new and unfamiliar place. Where everything, even her fellow players, were hostile to her.

It sickened her, enough that her legs shook in place, no longer supporting her as they should have. And the next second she was on the floor, shaking with tears ripped from her eyes and cascading down her face.

"Let's go." He ordered, and Charlotte just obeyed, there was no fight left in her and so she just let the man do what he wanted.

Only that didn't happen, the pressure she expected to feel on her wrist as he pulled her to her feet, the forceful seizure of her body.

She felt none of that, only some sort of wet and sticky sensation. 

Charlotte opened her eyes, and it was not to the sight of the man, of his cruel gray eyes hounding her.

But to golden ones, almost as pure as the angel she had met earlier. Only they had this cruel satisfaction to them as vines constricted around the hand of the man that had been harassing her.

He howled in pain, his wrist completely severed from his body with one final twist.

Then the woman, her platinum blonde hair cascading over the man, placed one final touch. Vines coalesced around his body, and he died, sucking in poisonous air even as it killed him. There was nothing he could do, nothing that the man could do but die.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and for the second time today Charlotte truly felt she had met an angel.

"Yes… thank you… truly… thank you."

"Of course, here come with me." She reached out her hand and took Charlotte with her. It was so like… like…

Charlotte shook her head, dismissing the memories from her mind and instead focusing on the kind angel that had helped her. 

Charlotte gave her the best smile she could, even if it was shaky, and took her hand in her own. Feeling the warmth, the way that she picked up and gave the feather, no matter how broken it was to her, it truly felt like today was a good day. 

No matter the hardships she had faced in the past.