The room was empty. Just like in her nightmares, Ariel remembered it all. Walls covered in mirrors, a ceiling with bright lights shining unrelentingly, a plain floor. A drain ominously in the middle of the floor, the tiles canted ever so slightly. In the middle of the room, was the Table. Always as a proper noun in her mind: the source of the pain and terror that she experienced on that slab of brushed steel, secured to the floor with industrial strength and Enochian sigils. Leather cuffs bound to its surface, to hold its prisoners still as they were... 're-educated', as Michael preferred to call it.

Ariel knew logically that she was not the only angel to be punished for stray thinking or questioning. She was a notch on Naomi's belt because of the way that she was dragged to the Table in the first place. For the length of time that she stayed here, how she fought against them all. She was feral from the fight, righteously furious and filled with rage at the Citadel, at everything it stood for. It took Naomi ages to... Michael would call it 'taming' her, but it was a process of breaking down, of targeted precise demolition.

The angels dropped her to the floor, closing the door behind her. Ariel didn't have the strength to fight at the moment, still weak from the beating and the lack of access to her Grace. She dragged herself into one of the corners, curling up and just waiting.

It didn't feel like very long when the door opened again. Ariel glared at the angel entering, but she kept herself small. The angel came to her and crouched, her dress shoes shining in the glare. A tan khaki pantsuit, old school tailored and old-fashioned, looked bulky against her frame. Ariel knew that the hands would be manicured, soft and supple despite the ghastly work that they undertook. Blonde hair would be cut messily and short, as if as an afterthought. Blue eyes, deeper and colder than ice's core, would be gentle... at first.

Ariel looked into the corner, trying and failing not to let the fear ride her. Anger was better: anger, she could control. Just like Cain taught her: anger was a demon's friend because it told them that they had something to live for. Pain was good, too, for similar reasons. Fear? Fear just made you soft, made you weak.

"Ariel. Look at me." Naomi's voice was always so gentle.

Ariel's throat was still healing itself, so she couldn't speak. Still, she refused to give in so quickly, even if the fear was riding tsunamis in her stomach.

"Ariel. Look at me." Naomi gently grabbed her chin and made her look. Ariel scoffed at her: not a drop of blood on her clothes, same as the last time. "There, now. That's better." Naomi moved her hands and ran them over the bruise on Ariel's throat. "Zachariah should've trained his men better. I'll have to talk to him again."

Ariel didn't care about Zachariah at this moment. His blood would stain her blade, eventually. Right now, she had to survive this. She had to cough a few times before her hoarse voice came back. "Just do it, Naomi."

"Do what?" Naomi seemed honestly curious. Ariel couldn't stand it.

"Re-education. What you do best. You twist my mind, my thoughts until I'm just like the others again. Make my questions seem pointless. Make my fight redundant." Ariel leaned against the cool steel wall. "Just do it."

Naomi chuckled, slowly and in disbelief. "What, no fighting, Ariel? Come on. That's the best part."

"We're not even right now. Why would I even try?" Ariel rubbed her hands on the leather cuffs, her fingers running over the carved sigils. "It would be like an ant running from the boot." A cough escaped her again. "My fight didn't work last time. Why would it work now?"

Naomi leaned back on her heels, before standing. "You're right. It's good to see that some of my lessons stuck."

Two angels came into the room at a hidden signal. They bodily lifted Ariel from the ground and placed her on the Table, slamming her back down. Ariel looked up at the ceiling as they strapped her in place, doubling up on the cuffs. One of the angels grabbed her hand. Ariel looked down and saw the sad face of Inias, but he did nothing to stop this. He could not, not without risking anymore against Michael and Raphael.

Naomi stood in the corner, smirking. "I think we'll start with your favourite, Ariel. Just as a warm-up, for now." The door opened and closed, leaving Ariel alone in her thoughts for now. The room went dark, a thick black that muted out all light. Ariel couldn't see anything, and her heart began to race. She knew what was coming, and that didn't make this any better.

A recording began to play, a tinny serene voice that grated on the nerves. "The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable..."

Ariel knew this one. She screwed her eyes closed, trying to block out the voice. Her wrists were secured too tight, so she couldn't block out the voice. She couldn't get off the Table, and she couldn't move. No amount of thrashing would save her, but that didn't stop her from trying. She fought with all the strength she had left, but that was little compared to her brethren. These restraints were meant to take a beating from celestials, not one without her power. The voice continued, its placid words wriggling into her ears like parasites. Repeating those thrice-damned mantras over and over, trying to break her.

At last, all she could do was scream.

-*-DRR-*-

Time loses meaning when there is nothing to mark it. There was no window in the Room, no way to gauge if it was night or day. Never letting her sleep, they would toss water or acid on her (depending on the level of spite from the enforcer). I mean, who wouldn't take the chance to revenge themselves against Hell's very own Angel Killer? Restrained always, the voice coming over and over, never stopping except when she made it stop.

The beatings were nice, though. A chance to stretch amidst the pain. Fists, feet, canes, whips. Always keeping her off her balance long enough to run a knife along her skin and watch the blood drip to the floor. It was almost cathartic that way, feeling her strength drip out of her in minuscule increments onto the once clean tile.

The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host.

Her voice was long gone, the screams stopped eventually. Screaming yourself hoarse in a soundproof room is never a smart investment, but you can't separate the visceral reactions to anticipated torment. She had been a soldier long enough to know that, even if you were completely prepared for it, pain still hurts. The crack of a rib, the slice of a knife, the curl of the whip against her already scarred back. Without a Grace within her and with Afriel fighting the chains within her mind as protection, she was on her own.

The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host.

The same phrase over and over, over and over. Never stopping. That placid voice, an ear-worm against even the most strong-willed of angels that burrowed deep into the brain. Over and over. Inviolably violating the most sacrosanct and private places an angel could keep to themselves until you were wrung out and flayed for the Host to inspect, to discipline, to re-educate.

The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host.

Only one thing kept them here. The tug of the leathers. The feel of the gorget instead of the collar, the arm restraints instead of the cuffs. The solid feeling of them against her skin. The angels stopped watching after a while, stopped looking at her hands as she would fold them in front of herself. They stopped watching her scratch at the sigils. Of course, it took so much time. Her fingers lacked their nails after one brutal session with one of Castiel's regiment, payback for some sin that she stopped caring about centuries ago. In another session, Naomi took the cane to her palms, rapping them until the tendons were on fire from the pain. A bone was never broken, but she wished for the sharp shock to break the slow build. Naomi was good, though. She never succumbed.

The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host.

Finally, she scratched her way through a sigil on each of the cuffs. The darkness filled her mind again, and Afriel flooded back to her. Ariel wanted to weep in gratitude as her demonic other half raged and ranted on her behalf, crying out for revenge against the ones that maimed her host. It was not enough to heal herself, but it was enough to be herself once more.

They finally let her rest. They never saw the black eyes as she crumpled into a corner, blood falling from her naked body in rivulets before clotting once again. They didn't see the smirk as she curled into a foetal position and pretended to sleep. They only saw what they wanted to see, these enforcers of her brother. When Naomi crouched behind her and bade Ariel speak, she had no idea that it was the demon to speak from the angel's mouth.

"The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host. The Father's will is inviolable. You do not question the Father's will. You follow the orders of the Host."

You better be grateful that I'm too weak to fight, bitch. Because I will come for you, Naomi. You, Michael, and the fucking Father himself one day. Our will is inviolable, and we have long memories...