The merciless glare of the sun shone brighter as it reflected against the sword's blade, its golden hilt was nothing but a blur of color and light as it swung into the air. Clouds were divided into multiple pairs, paving a way for the sword before the blade struck the surface where her wings and bareback met. It stings. She could feel every fiber of her flesh and feathers tear and burn. She heard nothing but her own agonizing screams and the screeching metal that dug her flesh-- it hunted the celestial realm.

Then Arsinoe opened her eyes with an audible gasp. Her throat felt dry with a lump. She swallowed so hard that she almost choked. Her forehead trickled with sweat; cold and sticky. Her shoulder rose and fell with every deep breath she took.

She looked around and the stone walls clad with lit torches blessed an unwelcome sting to her eyes. The flames flickered and danced from the wind that seeped its way to the cracked walls.

Her mouth fell agape as her gaze found its way to a broken mirror by her side. A woman in a black and white veil and a dress of the same color. Her sleeves covered the entirety of her arm and her skirt reached the floor-- its white linings at the tip of her arms and legs were dirtied with mud and dust, slightly yellow from its old age. She observed the face of the body she entered-- young, under thirty she presumes, brown eyes and brown hair tucked under her veil. Bags under her eyes, cracked lips, and a bruise on her cheek; angry, violet and black. And a silver cross as her necklace, it shone a bright silver and orange against the lit torches and it stood out like a sore thumb.

"What the hell," Arsinoe murmured as she approached the mirror with a raised hand in an attempt to touch it. She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

"Is this your choice or did I just spawn inside this woman randomly?" she groaned, disappointed and disbelieved she leaned forward to look at her reflection further.

Arsinoe recalled, while warm and thick crimson liquid flowed down her back, creating a small pool where she kneels. The seering pain encasing her entire torso as she bit her lips, suppressing a sob. She trembled as she let out shaky breaths, a futile attempt to stop her already falling tears. 

'If what you desire is to retrieve what I took; Seek your wings, for each pair was reborn as a human, each a vessel of your essence, a fragment of your power. Find them, unite with them, and let your true form emerge. By then, you may return and regain your right to soar through the three realms  of creation, life, and death.'

She glanced  at the door, agape, and walked towards it.  Each step she took, her veil swayed and brushed against her wounded skin. Tucked under it, her hair in a tight bun, hot against her thick and modest uniform. The sleeve and the hem were sticky and slightly wet. Arsinoe grimaced, her left eye twitched uncomfortably. She’s almost sorry for the state this body is in, battered and dirty, but she’s more disgusted and uncomfortable, only a fragment of her  is sorry. Not in the slightest did she feel guilty for her thoughts for the girl whose body she borrowed.

Upon closer inspection, the door was made of old wood, she swore she could see bits of mould. The door knob wore rust as its ornament.

“Disgusting,” she said in the privacy of her own thoughts.

Using only her index and her thumb, she attempted to open the door. She hissed upon her contact with the metal and immediately released it, it was cold and wet– probably from sweat and whatever grime there is to exist.

“Can’t this girl clean for herself?” she was about to wipe off her hand with her dress but halted as soon as the state of her hand came into the periphery of her sight.  Above the sickly-pale skin lay a sticky substance, it wore an angry color of red– dark that she almost mistook it for black.

Without any further comments of  disgust from the place, Arsinoe opened the door fast, it was immediate that it almost banged against the wall. It was swift that the lit candles from the candelabrum that hung on the wall dispersed into nothing but smoke and bits of embers.

“Briar,” Arsinoe came to a halt when a deep voice called to her. A thunderous boom during a rainless storm.

Wait… Called to… Her?

“Is this body’s name Briar?” she asked herself without turning around to spare the man a glance.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Arsinoe swallowed thickly, her heart thumping against hollow ribs. Lungs heavy and constricted, it felt humongous within a narrow leeway, restricting her breath.

“The debutantes are complete, the prayer has started, a little more and they would’ve been in the palace for the imperial banquet,” her hands were cold and clammy, her head heavy yet hollow. “The prayer room is this way, your supplicant sisters were looking for her.”

With nothing but will, a thick skin, and a pounding heart, Arsinoe turned around. Her eyes scanned the man in a hurry– sword hung by his hips, incomplete armor, a cloak that held a crest. The man’s a knight, a lowly one at that. How is he related to this gal? He cannot be her lover, can he? This Briar girl, whoever she is, is a woman of cloth even if she’s still in training. She’s soon to be a nun. Is she that kind of girl? Arsinoe choked a laugh.

“The Cardinal and the Pope himself tasked me to help you find your way to the prayer room,” Arsinoe tilted her head and she could swear the knight suppressed a grin. “Come on now, you are to help with the ceremony with your supplicant sisters.”

Without any choice, Arsinoe followed. 

The hallways were cold and hollow grey; the walls and floor made with stone. Bits of orange and yellow tinted the stones from lit candles that hung from the candelabrum. Autumnal breeze made its way inside from cloister windows– its size was meters above her head and stopped at her waist-level. Vines and ferns crawled on the space and  cracks from the building’s decrepitude. 

An atmosphere made of nothing but uncomfortable silence went to an end when Arsinoe heard a muffled hymn sung by a pipe organ. She tilted her head and paused by a milisecond. The knight gave her a glance but he never stopped walking.

“Yes, that’s the choir,” he lectured, his voice was monotone and void of any emotions, not even a scant amount. And Arsinoe’s a freaking celestial. She’s sharper than any mortal, she can read even the smallest amount of muscle movement.

“Wait… Are my senses dulled? I mean, I borrowed a human’s body after all? And the Monarch took my powers along with my wings,” Arsinoe couldn’t help but bite the nail of her  thumb. Her irises moved erratically as they walked. Her heart a pounding hammer within the shell she temporarily resides.

“Briar, we are here,” the knight announced, Arsinoe’s thoughts came to a halt.

Arsinoe looked up. The knight mentioned that the debutante’s prayers are on-going. By debutantes, noble young ladies turning eighteen are supposed to be present along with their respective families. She was expecting women in their prayer clothes– dresses in white and lace veils. Despite being modest clothes in comparison to what they wear on a daily basis, their accessories will give justice to their titles.

Precious gems  and pearls against delicate and well-maintained skin, untainted by sun damage nor scars. But no. Arsinoe stood before an empty room. No doors or windows were seen. Candles and torches weren’t lit.

Standing before Arsinoe was a cold room of stones infested with moss, ferns, and molds.

With furrowed eyebrows and patience running thin, Arsinoe turned around to face the knight.

A silver glint and a familiar shriek of metal was all it took for Arsinoe to raise her hands and grab the sword with her bare flesh. Gritting her teeth and a swallowed scream, all was but a futile attempt to save herself as Arsinoe felt the cold blade pierce her chest, slicing her palms and fingers in the process.

“You nibbler of a…” Arsinoe released suppressed groan, the vibration of her vocal chords made the blood attempt to seep from her throat to  gurgle– the crimson liquid flowed from her lips down to her chin and neck. “Damned mongler!” 

She felt her knees weaken and shake, the metal within her chest was cold yet it still burns, a sensation close to home. Arsinoe fell down to her knees, the pain in her chest much greater, the stone floor provided a second of solace as it bruised her trembling knees.

“They brought a message to the cardinal,” the body of Arsinoe was too weak to even raise her head to face the knight. She tightened her hold to the sword’s blade. “You’ve done your share.”

Without any warning, the knight pulled the sword. Arsinoe gasped but made no noise. She fell immediately to the floor as soon as the sword was released from her body. Her breaths came quick and shallow, blobs of white and black enclosed her already blurry vision. Her erratic breaths slowed down, she could taste iron on her numb tongue, and Arsinoe swear she could feel blood flow down from her nose.

“You cheater, how am I supposed to find the incarnations of my wings?”

Arsinoe couldn’t recall anything else but the sound of the knight’s footsteps getting quiet as seconds passed by, a woman’s scream, and the sound of something collapsing.