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Devils dance while Angels smile

I did not want to take my eyes off the angel's face, but I was too weak through loss of blood. I slipped in and out of consciousness throughout the journey. Each time my eyes opened, I was sure I would be dreaming, but she was still there; my guardian angel, watching over me. Hours passed, blurring into one long dream. The angel did not leave.

I awoke to find myself being lowered onto a hard floor. The angel was crouching next to me, her hands reaching to touch my face. She called a name in a clear voice.

"Carlisle," she called, over and over, her body shaking as if she was crying, though no tears fell from those molten gold eyes.

I wanted to reach over and reassure her that nothing was wrong, but I could not move. My limbs did not feel attached to my body; it was as if my mind had left my body, and I had no control over it any more. The angel lowered her head, and her blonde hair tickled my face. She pressed a hand against my side, stopping the blood flow. She called the name again, her voice rising in anguish. Another golden-haired angel squatted next to my head. He murmured quietly, too low for me to hear. My angel responded; she seemed to be begging the other angel. The way she looked at him made it clear he was the higher angel. Maybe he was an archangel, I thought to myself. Then, he nodded, bending lower, grasping my hand in his cool grip. I felt a sharp pain in my hand, and the angel moved away. I lay there, both angels gazing at me. The archangel looked at me worriedly, and then the fire began.

The pain was the worst I had ever felt. A fire was burning in my veins, spreading throughout my body. I tried to keep still, but I felt as if a thousand snakes had slithered inside my body, biting me, filling me with poison. I twisted on the floor, trying to escape the flames. I bit down on my lower lip, drawing blood, stopping myself from screaming in agony. The pain was torment. The floor did not sooth my suffering, it just made it worse. My wounds were being patched up slowly, by the archangel. He healed me, stopping the blood from pumping out quicker because of my juddering movements. And then he left me. The fires intensified, I could not see properly, they clouded my vision, blinding me to anything other than my pain. Cool hands clasped mine. My angel was still with me. She smiled, giving me strength, whilst devils danced inside my veins. As the flames raged, I decided this must be a trial. The archangel who instigated this pain was God, and He was choosing whether I was able to remain in Heaven, with my angel. I did not mind, I expected it. In my twenty years on Earth, I had not been a good person. I had worked for my family, but I had not cared for many people other than my blood relatives. In my world, you had to look after number one. God came back every few hours, and each time he did I was sure he would take away the angel. But she did not leave. She stayed with me, stroking my head and my hands, cooling me down, murmuring to me, though I could not hear her.

The fires began in waves, each one stronger than the last. Each time they subsided, I thought it was over, but another, stronger one came to replace the last. Gradually they increased in tempo, until I could not distinguish between each new flame. They burned inside my body, eating away at me from the inside out. I glanced at my hands every so often, surprised to see they were not yet blackened and burned. The pain could have lasted for hours, days, even years. I had lost all track of time. The only constant was my angel and God, watching over me. Eventually, it subsided. My vision cleared, and I could shakily sit up.

I felt cold, very cold, unnaturally cold. I held my hands to my face to breathe on them, so I could warm them up. They were whiter than snow. I breathed on them, ineffectually. My breath was as cold as my hands. I looked around. The angel was kneeling beside me, smiling broadly. Her skin was as pale as the wall behind her. She touched my hand, and her fingers did not feel cold like they had before. I dropped my gaze to our interlocked fingers. Our skin tones were identical. Realisation dawned. I had become like her. I was an angel. God had found it in His heart to allow me to enter His world. The door I had not noticed before opened, and God walked through it. He looked at the angel and spoke to her. I found I could understand their rapid speech now.

Then He turned to me. "What is your name," He asked.

My throat felt dry, and I licked my lips to try and bring some moisture to them. "Emmett McCarthy," I said.

"Welcome, Emmett McCarthy," He said. "My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, and this is Rosalie Cullen."

My angel – Rosalie. The name fit her perfectly. A beautiful name for a beautiful angel. "Am I in Heaven?" I asked.

He laughed. "I am not God." He chuckled. "Are you thirsty?"

I paused. That seemed an odd question. But then I felt a rising thirst stronger than any I had felt before. It rasped against my throat, a powerful yearning. It convulsed my body. I could not fight it. It was too strong. "Yes," I gasped. "Yes!"

My angel laughed, a high clear tinkle. "He is new and strong. Shall we?" she said.

The other man nodded. "Yes, I think we should. I shall get the others. You must stay with him, Rosalie. Do not let him get away from you. You are stronger than him at the moment, but he will soon be equal if not stronger than you when he has fed. You must show him the right way to live," he said, anxiously.

"Do not worry, Carlisle. He will not escape me," she murmured. "I will not let him, not now."

I tried to find the words to tell her I will not leave her ever, but I could not. The thirst had taken over my body. All I could see was my intense longing. She hauled me upright, and together we ran out of the door.