Unforgiven

Questions Without Answers

So many thoughts cross my mind. So many questions I am yet to find the answers to.
Why do the Dark Angels want me?
How is Dominick handling my death?
Why do the rules matter so much? I mean seriously, no smiling?
Has anyone ever broken the rules?
Why is Eli a lord?
Why haven't I eaten something yet?
Okay, so the last one isn't as important, but I am getting hungry. At least I'm already dead so I can't die of starvation.
"Stephania?" I gaze up from where I'm sitting, looking carefully through the darkness and spotting the silhouette of Eli, with Tyler close behind.
"Yeah?" I ask, half asleep. It's been a long day, okay?!
"We thought you might be..." Please say hungry! Please say hungry! "Tired," I groan. "And hungry," Thank the lord. Wait, if you think about it, did I say, thank the Eli? Or...
"Yeah, I'm a bit hungry and a lot tired," I reply.
"Stand up and follow me," Eli orders. I nod, pushing myself off the cloud

The smell of chicken and roast wafts up my nose. I enjoy every scent, apart from the scent coming from the food scraps bin.
"Where are we?" I ask whilst inspecting the white walls and polished floors. Tables stand in the centre with chairs surrounding them. I see multiple 'angels' laughing, eating and drinking, water of course.
"Dining hall," Eli tells me. I nod.
"Tyler, over here!!" I cast my eyes to the boy from earlier, Damian, I think his name is.
"Coming!" Tyler shouts over the loud sound of chatter. He hurries of to the white table, lined with black, his wings folded up behind him.
"For mentors, Night Watchers and their clients," Eli adds. He's right, not everyone here has wings.
"But wasn't Damian taken off Night Watch?" I ask.
"Yeah but his dad's the chef so he gets to stay here, it was a car crash, they both died and came here at the same time,"
"Oh,"

Eli hands me a plate piled with chicken and roast vegetables, before getting one for himself.
"Where do I sit?" I ask.
"Follow me," I do just that. As we walk down to a table I feel stares hitting me like daggers. From what I can see, all the other clients look like stereotypical 'bad people', then, there's me, the little girl defying stereotypes.
"What did she do? Tear off her doll's head?" One of the other mentors asks with amusement in his voice. Everyone around him laughs this strange laugh.
"Drunken idiots," Eli mutters.
"How old is she, ten?"
"Sixteen," I murmur. I continue to follow Eli. We reach a table with another mentor an client sitting at the other end.
"Lord Pocheco," The other mentor, an adult man, greets as we sit.
"Lord Harrison," Eli says back.
"Who's your client?" The man asks.
"Stephania, you?"
"Mauve," I look at his client. It's a female adult. She has long brown, greasy hair and a tattoos down her neck.
"Stupid stereotypes, always coming true," I murmur.