To whomever in the light this may reach,

  I hope this letter finds you well, that it doesn’t disrupt any predetermined schedule, and that my request is not unreasonable. I am Lady Rae of the Avaritia house, which oversees the political, financial, and legal functions of the Benaill Province. A primarily self-governed province situated along the west border of the Folivore Commonwealth. And I, both as a mother, and overseer of this region, am writing this letter with an urgent request.

  My eldest daughter, Azazel Avarice is a sinner of the highest accord. Even so, I humbly ask that her soul be saved.

  Twelve years ago, my daughter disappeared into the woods that surrounds our estate; and died. Rather, that was what should have happened. Instead, her body was returned to us in a state that can only be described as undead. With a curse we have never been able to truly understand. This curse has taken my beloved daughter, turned her into a murderer, and a cannibal. It consumes every living thing that comes too close and cannot be satiated. But I trust—that had this not happened, my daughter would still have a pure, untainted soul. One that would never harm anyone.

  Because of this curse, Azazel has been unable to live freely; forced into complete social isolation. We have tried every known method to cure her, to no avail. To add to this, my son, Abigor Avarice, who will be taking over the Avaritia house in the third quarter of the year, has been privately dealing with soul seekers from the Lower-Plane, looking to have Azazel forcibly damned to hell. Therefore, I feel I have no choice but to beg that, somehow, the Upper-Plane forgive her sins; and offer her a peaceful afterlife.

  As I am writing this letter, there is a mere three months until Abigor takes ownership of the Avaritia house. If possible, I would like at least one angel to visit, to consider if her soul is one capable of saving. If so, it must be taken before these three months are up.

  - Sincerely, Rae Avarice

  ~

  The Lea-Bethel house was a maze of the world’s memories. One Lux had been tediously taught to navigate throughout the first few decades that followed her rebirth. The walls were made of double-sided shelves that never stopped shifting, where transcripts flew overhead at all hours, sorting and re-sorting at each archivist’s command.

  First, Lux searched by house name. She waved her finger, thinking—Avaritia, Avaritia, as every transcript holding the word slotted onto the shelf. She nearly gasped when only two appeared. That’s it? She pulled them from the shelf and set them aside.

  Next, she searched by location, uttering, Benaill Province, Benaill Province. This time, several transcripts appeared, but after a quick glance, she found they all originated from surrounding provinces, with nothing but mere mentions of the Benaill Province. She took only one of these transcripts.

  Finally, she searched by name, inhaling—Azazel Avarice, Azazel Avarice, and not a single transcript appeared.

  ~

  Lux returned to her dorm; greeted by the muffled radio waves that escaped her roommate’s headset. Hoping to evade her attention, she quietly set a suitcase over the slim space between their beds and spread it open, but still caught her roommate’s eyes flicking over at her.

  “Wait, Lux—,” she must’ve let the headset fall from her ears, allowing the fuzzy sound to continue, “you haven’t finished your final already, have you?” she sounded nearly horrified at the idea.

  She was the type that never stopped gossiping, invested in every story no matter how minuscule, giggling quietly whenever she soaked up another. Lux merely listened—once she considered telling her to join the Academy’s journalists and publish a gossip magazine, but she couldn’t bother to hold a conversation long enough to do so.

  “Of course not,” Lux heard what could’ve been a sigh of relief, “I’ve been assigned to the Mortal-Plane for my final.”

  “That’s. . ., odd,” her voice trailed off, “are you sure the Headmistress didn’t accidentally switch your assignment with one of the evangelizers?”

  Lux shook her head, pulling uniform after uniform from her wardrobe, “she said I’m not connected, that I don’t love like I should. Whether it’s the Upper-Plane or Mortal-Plane; apparently, it’s not enough.”

  Lux heard a snicker across the room. She almost shot a glare in its direction.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Love? Connection? I didn’t realize the Headmistress got that sappy,” her roommate wondered aloud, “still, I’ve never heard of any assignment like that. . ., isn’t love one of those things that comes naturally?”

  Lux’s response was silence, finger hovering over the textbooks on her shelf—pondering.

  “. . ., Isn’t it?” her roommate pushed.

  Advanced Techniques for Heavenly Saviors, Lux had poured over the book before, but until now, it had no relevance on her personal curriculum. The Lea-Bethel house was known for it’s shut-ins, and the saviors of Yosef-Salem had a reputation that was entirely the opposite.

  Her roommate sighed, “. . ., are you even listening?”

  Lux pulled the book from her shelf, “I’d rather not participate in debates that have no end,” she finally said, clicking the suitcase shut, dragging it up from the floor, “either way, I’m heading out.”

  “Already?” her eyes followed Lux as she slid a few Lea-Bethel transcripts into her satchel and went towards the door. “But you didn’t even tell me what the assignment entails—,” before she could finish, the door swung shut.

  There was a muffled grievance behind Lux, “she’s on her own plane of existence, I swear. . ..”

  ~

  Lux’s descent from the Upper-Plane was overrun with inconsistencies. The terrain was chaotic; ground changing in texture with each step. Every building she passed was at least slightly misshapen. Like a wall of children’s artwork, the Mortal-Plane entirely lacked uniformity. Even the streetlights were lopsided.

  Her next train approached with a high-pitched screech. She walked into the cabinet as the conductor clipped her ticket, taking the cabin farthest from any nearby chatter. She pushed her suitcase beneath her seat, manifested the transcripts she’d grabbed from the archive into the air with one flash of light, sitting back as the memories it stored imprinted onto her.

  The first transcript begun through the eyes of an angel Lux had never met, as if their eyes were her own. They wore the emblem of a dove on their sleeve, with their wings hung low by their feet, taking a newspaper from the hands of a mortal boy.

  AVARITIA HOUSE RE-JOINS FOLIVORE COMMONWEALTH after seven-hundred years of exile. Surrounding provinces have been granted explicit permission to exchange business with Benaill, and previously closed borders have been opened. Despite this, the provinces borders remain quiet. Current Avaritia house overlord, defamed son Stokely Avarice states, “our citizens have stayed self-sustained for generations, it may take a considerable amount of time before our businesses expand elsewhere.”

  The Commonwealth wonders; could this be a deliberate attempt by bovidae therians to reap the benefits of being within Commonwealth, without reinvesting in the alliance?

  She flipped the next transcript open, the memory rolling in like a flashback. Suddenly, she heard the same static she’d grown accustomed to hearing from her roommate’s half of their dorm. Then, a booming voice begun jabbering so fast she could hardly follow it.

  “The Avaritia house’s 22nd heir Ovi Avarice has announced his engagement with Bovidae common woman Rae Ashworth just five weeks before he’s planned to take his mother’s title of Overlord.”

  An unfamiliar angel’s hand reached for the radio’s dial, the booming voice quieting as they spun it.

  “That’s one unfamiliar name isn’t it? Seems she nearly appeared out of nowhere.”

  Lux pulled the last transcript from her satchel, bringing on one more slew of memories.

  Muffled children’s voices sounded as an angel laced a chain around an old church door. Their eyes wandered around a scene of snowfall under the night sky; Lux nearly felt the frigid air as their eyes stopped over three distant shadows.

  “Old World magic, I’m telling you—right under all our noses! All we’ve got to do find our way round’ the cliffside without gettin’ caught—and the Benaill province’s ancient magics are ours to awaken.”

  “No way! The province’s borders are closed for a reason; I’m not taking a chance with those dirt devils.”

  “Seriously, man—old world magic is long dead. . .. You need to stop with the conspiracy theories.”

  Suddenly, the angel let out a loud sigh, preparing to call out to the children.

  “Hey, it’s past dark! you kids' go on home! I don’t want to have to tell your parents about that forbidden escapade you’re planning!”

  Lux’s eyes burned as the memories slowly left her, fading out in high-pitched yelps as the children scattered away from the angel she’d become in that moment. A dull huff escaped her as she sunk back into her seat; from the sound of it, the Benaill province might just be the Folivore Commonwealth’s favorite scapegoat.

  The train cabin was tight, just as humid as it was outside; and she was beginning to find herself increasingly suffocated by it. Her eyes fell towards the window, facing a wide sky colored in delicate blues and whites. From this altitude, she couldn’t even see the cogwheels that held up the first layer of the Upper-Plane—and she was already craving her return to it.

  Before her thoughts could linger on the ‘love’ she lacked—she found herself pouring over Rae Avarice’s letter again. Utterly enthralled by the few lines it offered.

  A common woman who ‘appeared out of nowhere’ marrying into an already hated family—her cursed daughter might just be another shame on their name.