Shai She rose from her bed with a yawn, and looked at her alarm clock, set up to go off at exactly four thirty A.M. As always, she had beaten the alarm by thirty minutes, making it about four A.M. when she got out of bed. Her duties didn't begin until about seven in the morning, but she always woke up extra early to care for some treasures she had found just over a month ago, in an abandoned business. It was her secret, her only reason for getting up at all sometimes.
She grabbed some bindings, and secured her wings tightly to her back, then slipped on a tight light blue t-shirt with long sleeve, and a round neckline. She pulled a comfortably fitting pair of jeans on after, also slipping on socks and a black pair of sneakers. She secured her only bleach-blonde hair into a tight bun, coiling it all in until just a few strands hung loosely, and none were in her face.
Finally ready to go to her secret place, she grabbed a small bag on her bedside table, and left her home, taking only a few moment to look around as she walked silently through the town, searching for the building she had come to love in the short time she had known of it's existence.
Finally spotting the familiar sign, she peered over her shoulder once more before entering, the door opening easily after nights of use. She remembered the first time coming here, the door had been jammed because of rust on the hinges. Curiosity had gotten the better of her then, and she had oiled the hinges until it opened easily, revealing the hidden treasures within the rooms, though many would consider these boxes more of a curse.
Entering the back rooms, her eyes softened as she viewed the masterpieces of woodwork she had discovered just over a month ago. Coffins. Beautifully carved coffins lined the walls, some sitting, some leaning on one another, but all for them a work of art, obviously hand crafted from the intricate designs to the differences in each and every one. When she had first found them, she had taken time looking at each one, marveling in the craftsmanship in each one. She could hardly believe that a mere human could carve such beauty.
She had begun repairing and cleaning them less than a week later, polishing them, and fixing the small marks mice and other vermin had caused as they sat, ignored for so long. She wished she could meet the person who had carved them, but she felt he must be gone, for what person would carve such beauty, just to leave them to rot?
Alexander He nods once even though she couldn't see him, taking her mumble as an acceptance. He lifts her shift carefully off her skin, and pulls it up, letting it rest above the wounds, though there was barely enough room to do that. As he looked on at the deep grooves in her back, still oozing blood, he couldn't help but roll his shoulders, the marks seeming oddly familiar from somewhere, and they were positioned in the same spots his wings were connected to his chest. He added the pieces together, and knew this girl was either angel, or demon, or some strange hybrid or mix. He still couldn't sense what she was, but she seemed too. . .cold to be an angel.
Shrugging off his doubts for the time being, He grabbed a clean towel he had brought out off the table and carefully dried and wiped away some of the blood. He mutters an apology, as he moves the towel away, setting it down on top of her ruined jacket. He picks up a tool that looked similar to a pair of tweezers, and began slowly picking out and undoing the remainder of the old stitching. As he did so, he began muttering a few demonic charms, used to quench bleeding while sealing a wound. It should buy a little more time.
As he picked out the last old stitching, he set the tweezers down next to the pile of thread pieces that had formed, and picked up a sharp needle, a bit longer than a sowing needle, and a bit thicker as well. he threaded it with new stitching, that he shamelessly admitted to stealing from a hospital, and began his work on one of the holes in his back, carefully sowing it closed as he would one of his own wounds. The blood was slightly hampered by the charms he constantly muttered, but it still flowed a bit as he worked. He had never seem such a grievous wound as to have one's wings ripped right off the back, messily by the looks of it.
),anyway,somtimes I get a bit emotional over my carrys (no crying if thats what you're thinking),,I guess you could call me bipolar w/o being bipolar?? lol A lotta people also think I have ADD -_-
;D
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