Eris: I was trying to depict her as the bringer of the deadly sin, greed. It's defined to be "the desire for material wealth or gain, ignoring the realm of the spiritual.", which would work in the previously stated position- as Samara attempted to rid Alessia of her spiritual course to instead gain a material fulfillment. Out of curiosity, though, did you have a different opinion as to which she would have been? Because yesterday someone commented that she also could have been that of pride, or gluttony. I'm just inquisitive as to what I portrayed for my reader's. Well, I hope you enjoyed it anyways.

Nicky: Glad you liked it. Jay and Bob are coming back next chapter. Stay tuned.

Chapter Five

To Change Who I Am

Metatron had suggested that the best way to relieve Alessia's current state of fatigue, although she aggressively insisted it wasn't fatigue but instead frustration, was to get a little something to eat and perhaps go over and further question's she may have had. Obviously, he knew far beyond well, that she still had many; after all, it had been quite hard to gather her thought's when three strange men suddenly propped themselves on the end of her mattress while proclaiming themselves as prophets and angel's and such. Quite hard indeed.

So, the had retreated to a small delicatessen, just around the corner from the Law Firm where she had once worked; but Metatron had made sure it was hidden from the view from any of the restaurant's windows, as to not induce another fit of hysteric sobs from the young woman who had not grown partial to the idea that she had thrown some of the best year's of her life away, that she had tossed in the gutter all of what she had worked so hard for. She had strived for the finest grades, gone to the most esteemed school's, worked every moment of every day of her life to the best of her ability- all for what? To suddenly be told that none of it was suitable in the eyes of her Lord, that she would be forced to forget everything she'd ever done in order to be truly happy. Dammit, she was happy. She was absolutely fucking happy, and quitting her job, seeing her moronic ex-husband, and trying to search through her soul for "who she truly was" were not going to make her happier. In fact, she was sure they would make her much, much, much unhappier.

They sat in silence, across from one another, occasionally shifting uncomfortably atop the red leather cushions of the modern booth; both set's of eye's glued to the menu, lips pursed, leg's crossed. Until Metatron gave up, his awkwardness caving in, and he placed the menu down with an elongated sigh escaping his lip's. Who was he kidding, it's not as if he could have consumed the wonderful foods even if he wished, which he did of course, and the entire situation was getting incredibly out of hand.

"Are you not going to speak to me ever again?" He questioned bluntly, eye's narrowing at her, as she seemed to slouch even further down on her leather lump, so even the top of her head could not be glimpsed over the rim of the plastic menu, "Because its not my fault you know, none of this is my fault, and it's not as if I planned the itinerary."

Perhaps it was the sincerity in the word's he so gracefully spoke, but Alessia found herself slowly regaining a sturdy posture, and soon placing the menu down on the tabletop in front of her, "I know it's not your fault," She mumbled, blinking once or twice before casting her eye's up at the ceiling.

"It's not His fault either," Metatron interjected, catching the hidden meaning behind the traveling route of her stare.

She groaned, "I'm assuming it's the fault of the only person left at this table to blame."

Metatron shrugged, "I couldn't tell you. Truthfully, I'm not sure it's anyone's fault. It's just, something along the course of your existence didn't go as planned, something you did ran you off the pure road, and I was sent her to fix that something."

"Ah, well, did anyone up there," Alessia allowed her eye's to shoot a deadly glare towards the ceiling once more, "ever think that perhaps everything went as planned. Except it was not to the plan He configured, but it was the plan that I configured. I mean, I thought I had everything figured out until this morning, when suddenly I was informed what I did throughout my entire being wasn't good enough for God! Apparently, nothing I did was good enough, not my job, or my marriage, or even myself! And that just-"

She was interrupted by the soft sensation of a small tear running down the side of her porcelain cheek, followed by another, and then a few more. It seemed as though what Alessia had been holding in the entire morning was coming forth at the most inappropriate of times, and there was no way that she could have made it stop, a part of her wasn't even going to try. In doing so, unfortunately, she also unveiled Metatron's weakness.

"Oh, goodness, please," He mumbled, rolling his eyes, and passing her the napkin from beneath his set of utensils, "There's no need for that, Less, really."

Grumbling a few barely audible curses beneath her breathe, she roughly grabbed the paper from between his finger's, and dabbed gently at her cheeks.

"You know, you shouldn't think of this the way you are," Metatron stated simply, watching as she dried the few remaining tear's from her eye's, although they seemed to start forth again continuously no matter how many times she patted them away.

"What do you mean?" She snapped, slamming a fist down on the table, which sent forth a vibration that shook the glass container's storing condiment's against the wall; the sound of porcelain chiming rang loudly, and Alessia couldn't help but blush softly in embarrassment, although her voice continued to carry an icy undertone, "Are you saying that I shouldn't be angry that God's asking me to give up everything I am?"

"I'm just saying," he inhaled a deep breathe, soothingly allowing his eyes to search for a response within hers, as he outstretched a weathered hand across the table and let his touch connect with her arm in reassurance, "That sometimes we have to give up everything we are, for what we can become."

Not oblivious to his physical relation with her, she glanced down at his hand before retreating her fury with a defeated sigh, "I'm just afraid of what I will become."

Nothing but a nod escaped the man across from her, and she continued as if believing he had some sort of understanding to what she was about to say, "I've lived all my life one way, the only way I thought possible, and now I'm being asked to make changes that will turn that entire concept of myself upside down. You're asking me to change who I am."

Metatron shook his head, a frown over taking his façade, his eyebrow's furrowing, "No, no, no- you're not changing who you are. None of this is who you are! Your job, your relationships- all these thing's aren't what make you. It's true that they are what build you, but it's not what makes you. Alessia, all we're asking is that you re-think what builds you. You'll always be the same confident, intelligent, quirky young woman on the inside- but on the outside you'll have reached a fulfillment you can't even begin to comprehend. And I believe that this fulfillment will bring you more joy than a high-paying job, your stunning reputation, and some two-bit ex-boyfriend ever could."

"What if I can't do it?" The blonde-haired woman asked softly, her eyes pleading for the honest answer, "What if I just can't do it?"

"You can do it, and you will." And that was how he left it. No mention of seven days, no mention of time ticking quickly by them, no mention that if her deeds were not completed she would be deemed an un-pure soul, and absolutely no mention that thing's were just going to keep getting harder. After all, he was sure some interjection from the "opposing team" would soon be sent to will Alessia away from the task at hand- because both sides wanted her equally, she was just yet to realize why.

Another string of stillness was interchanged until the waitress came to ask them their order. Per usual, Alessia was undecided between the clam chowder and the stir-fry and thus chose both, and Metatron said that he was no longer hungry, opting for not displaying the disgusting trait of having to regurgitate all meals incessantly.