Snippet #2509196

Red light filtered through the vaulted windows of the chancel, through the welded bars over the gothic architecture, causing stripes of crimson on the flags, marked as they were, inexpertly with rivets and struts.

The wing of the owl hung from the frame by some copper wire and hooks against. The Angel crouched before it, staring at it and looking between that and the twisted amalgamation hung from the ceiling, a composite of metal and bones and gappy, stitched hides. It didn't look right. How very frustrating. Cadriel hopped down from her perch and walked across the stone flags, watched nervously by the Gargoyles. These creatures, flawed results of her own attempts to craft working wings, were hideous-looking chimeras of flesh and machinery, once Otherworld residents before taken away by Cadriel's mechanical men. Now they stood bound to the Angel's will, and as such were also permanently subject to her unpredictable whims.

And those whims were VERY unpredictable.

Some days she might be caring and compassionate, doing her best to try and fix them and fussing over the creatures, filled with a need to takecare of them, other days she was a spiteful, cruel sadist who would happily see them harmed for her own amusement. It meant that even those at the very top of her mockery of a court were constantly afraid of her.

"Where...where has my horsie gone?" she asked thoughtfully, before extending a bandaged, bloodied hand pointing towards one, a sort of hunched bird-rabbit dressed in a smock.

"Th-the Sentinel went out mi-milady." the abomination stammered, the stitches tugging the corners of its mouth.
"Looking for the red lady. The last dreamer th-"

"Don't speak of her here!" Cadriel interrupted, seizing hold of the creature's muzzle and jamming it shut with an ironlike grip.
"I don't want to know about Xander's little relic. I don't want you to speak of ANY of them. The Dreamers are gone and shall stay that way. Soon the red one and her little toothpick will end up skewered on horsie's pike and we won't have to hear about them anymore..."

She relinquished her grip abruptly and hopped up onto the ledge of the nearest window, the scorching wind that blew up from the furnaces pushing the limp strands of her hair back from her white face as she cast her gaze out beyond the Minster, and toward the wasteland beyond.

She grinned, darkly.
"When they're all dead none of us will have to hear about them anymore..."