"Wondering eyes need no disguise.
It's obvious that this love never dies.
Never dies."
~Guardian Angel, Abandon All Ships
She could feel her gut twisting with nerves. The doorways she passed all seemed blurred together, until the one she needed jumped out in front of her:
Deaziel.
The angel in question lifted cold eyes to her as she opened the door, motioning for Mircalla to sit. The chair was small; uncomfortable. Then again, Mircalla mused, that was likely the point. Deaziel was cold, cruel and strict. Many potential guardians had backed down and switched to another course, like Seeing and Visionary Studies, in the face of having to work with Her Disapprovingness.
Not Mircalla. She had her sights set on an Archangel Scholarship, which required Guardianship experience if she was to even think of applying. No disapproving senior angel was going to scare her off.
"You applied for a Guardianship placement, correct?"
"If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here," Mircalla replied lazily. "But yes, I did."
Deaziel's eyes narrowed coldly.
"You are intending to remain in Guardianship under my tuition for the duration of your charge's life and beyond?"
"Yes, to the first; no to the second. Guardianship isn't my one-and-done, I'm afraid."
Understanding flickered dimly in Deaziel's eyes.
"You intend to apply for the placement on the Archangel Scholarship under the tutelage of Lord Raziel?" she enquired.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"You have a sharp tongue, fledgling," Deaziel snapped. "Perhaps that loud mouth would be better suited to Heralding and Messenger Responsibilities."
"With all due respect, Deaziel, I think I know how to run my life," Mircalla growled. "Will you accept me or not; I'm not here to have my time wasted and there are other places I could go."
Deaziel studied her for a moment, as if debating whether her threat was genuine. Then, apparently satisfied, she reached into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a file.
"You have commendable credentials as a student, Mircalla," she conceded, tapping the file. "This is some basic information; your charge and the details of your placement and human identity should be sent through within the week."
"Thank you," Mircalla took the file, curling her fingers around it and smiling thinly. "I look forward to working with you."
"Keep up the attitude you showed today and you'll soon wish you'd transferred," Deaziel snapped.
"We'll see," Mircalla smirked as she stepped out of the office. "We'll see."
Deaziel didn't lie: four days later, Mircalla received a large manila file with all the details of her new life as a human. She was to start in two months, a few weeks past the beginning of the new school year, and adopt a new name for her new life.
"Creative," she muttered, staring at the anagram of her name printed on the page. "I hope this works out..."
The next two months passed in a haze of last-minute training, rules on flying drilled into her head for when she was finally given her wings, and choosing how to live and act and be once she had entered the human world.
"You know, being an asshole isn't so bizarre in humans," Mircalla glared across at the smirking figure in the doorway, his eyes dancing with amusement at his joke.
"Being a pathetic suck-up is also a plausible human personality, so you needn't change at all, Will," she snarked, swinging her bag onto her shoulder and straightening. "I take it you've come to tell me something with smug satisfaction, only to find out I already know?"
"Well, if you must know –"
"Save it, Will. I know we're getting our wings today. I talked to Deaziel last night."
"Fine," he snapped. "What do you reckon yours will be like?"
"Big and feathery," she muttered, stalking past him into the corridor. He fell into step beside her as she reached the stairwell, still grinning irritatingly.
"Besides that. Like, what colour? Will they have stripes? Spots? Black or white or green? What shape?"
"You spent all night wondering what your wings are going to look like?" she snapped, unable to believe it. He was an asshole: why would he be daydreaming about flying?
"I wanna look impressive; don't you?"
"One; we won't have our wings for most of our time on the ground and two – I'm impressive enough without wings."
"Touché," he said, and shut up.
Finally, she thought, as the pair of them spotted ten of the other Guardian Fledglings waiting for them to arrive. Eventually, all sixteen of them were assembled, a mirror placed in front of each, and Deaziel stepped forward to greet each of them and bestow a pair of wings and a new identity upon them. Mircalla could feel her heart pounding high in her chest, clamouring like a struck gong in her lungs.
Deaziel reached Will, ninth from the end, and Mircalla forced herself not to flinch as she felt the heat blaze from his form as he received his wings.
Deaziel paused in front of her, and she stared up into those cold, unfeeling eyes, steeling herself for the imminent fire under her skin that some of the older angels had described.
"Mircalla," she said. Mircalla tilted her head upwards as the moment of truth approached. Deaziel's fingers made contact with her forehead and Mircalla felt white-hot acid pain run in burning rivulets under her skin. It was almost as if her skin were rising away from her bones, the feeling of her body unfurling from itself as gleaming feather shafts lifted from nowhere, wings unfolding effortlessly as the pain faded and the feeling of cool, rippling water over her shoulder blades replaced it.
The sensations eventually subsided and Mircalla opened her eyes. Deaziel had moved on down the line, and Mircalla flexed her new wings and raised her head.
The mirror placed in front of her greeted her as she stared at her own reflection.
"Hey, Carmilla."
