Vengeance Of The Angel

ophony of footsteps and fragmented conversations she couldn't yet decipher. Elara's consciousness

been the silent, opulent agony of the Celestial Spire. The next, this-a grimy, vibrant, deafeningly human street. Her hands,

ve of her hips-were a map of a territory she had not chosen to explore. This body was a masterpiece, a sculpture she inhabited but did not own. The stares of the people around her were like physical touches. Men turned, their eyes wide,

think? I can smell th

se. A woman with severe eyebrows and a tight ponytail was looking

ted flash of anger didn't come. Instead, a profound, soul-deep confusion clouded

y melody, unfamiliar to her own ears

tion she had anticipated. She had prepared for a catfight, f

" the woman

asked, her tone soft yet com

ver compact. Women, for all their jealousies, are often the first to be ensnared by

led as she took it.

ilight, holding galaxies of sorrow. Full, naturally rosy lips parted in a silent gasp. Skin like poured moonlight, flawless and unblemished

bitter tide rising in her throat.

essed by survival in

o higher education, no promising career. Her path had been decided by an old debt: her father had once pulled the patriarch of the prestigio

age she became fluent in. She endured it all for her family-for her weary father and her younger brother, Leo, whose school f

affair, a public humiliation Elara was forced to swallow. Only old Patriarch Sterling's iron-clad sen

stress could never be satisfied

ter filling her lungs, the dark, star-dusted sky above shrinking into a pinprick of light before vanishing. She didn't need

he di

istocrats. She was made a servant to their supreme ruler, the god-king Rabanut. For over a decade in that realm, she was remade. Her mi

espite his centuries and his legion of celestial lovers, none had ever borne him a child. His lineage was a

ve birth-to twins, a boy and a girl with eyes that already held the storm-light of their father-Rabanut wasted no time. As soon as she was strong enough to stand, he cast h

smog-stained sky of the city that had birthed and killed her, weeping for the children ripp

erned. She gently guided Elara into the relative quiet of a shop doorway. "What's wro

tears flying. "What day is it?" she whispere

fresh suspicion. "It's Dec

ea in the autumn of 2022. Ten years in Aetheria... and only one ye

into her hand. "My name is Sophia Winchester. I'm a publicist.

second to silence it, and when she looked up, the space where the devastatingly beautiful woman h

necessary. From the spatial ring on her finger-a final, dismissive gift from Rabanut, payment for services rendered-she pulled a single, uncut emerald. It glowed with an inner fire, a tiny piece of a stolen heaven. She f

of her father's weary smile, her mother's tearful embrace, her brother Leo's excited shout. She would use this mone

ng from the porch of her childho

an to hammer against her ribs

e burst through the front door, and there it was-the altar. The incens

ed scream. Her legs dissolved beneath her, and she collapse

ushed over, their faces masks of confusion and pity. They

" Mrs. Gable asked, her

ecked rivers. She clutched the woman's arm, her grip desperate. "What happened

r own eyes. She had seen him just before the yacht party. He had be

was this stunning, hysterical woman? A scammer? But they had n

iously softened by her devastating beauty and palpable

ed his arm, her nails digging in. "It's me!" she cried, her voice cracking under the