In the bustling heart of London, Ashlee Jenkins appears to be just another local blending into the vibrant city life. But beneath her unassuming façade, Ashlee harbours a profound secret-she is "Angel," a guardian with the extraordinary ability to m...
The moment the key turned in the lock and the door to my apartment swung open, a chill of foreboding ran down my spine. The air inside was stale, heavy with a silence that was almost suffocating. It was as if the very walls were holding their breath, whispering of the intrusion that had violated this sanctuary of mine.
As my gaze swept across the room, sharp and searching, my heart lodged in my throat, heavy and uncomfortable like a giant cooking apple. The drawers, usually so meticulously arranged, were ajar, their contents disturbed with careless haste. Papers on my desk, normally aligned with almost obsessive precision, were scattered, as if someone had rifled through them in a frantic search for secrets. Personal belongings, each with their own story and place, were subtly shifted, betraying the hands that had dared to touch them.
My heart raced, a drumbeat of alarm echoing through my chest. Instinctively, my wings unfurled, stretching out with a readiness that filled the room. My hand tingled, a faint sparkle of lightning flickering at my fingertips, ready to unleash fury on any hidden threat. I moved through the apartment with cautious grace, every sense attuned to the slightest sound, the faintest movement. But it soon became clear; the intruder was gone, leaving behind only the echoes of their presence, a ghostly reminder of the vulnerability I had tried so hard to shield.
Realizing I was alone, I extinguished the spark in my hand, locked all the doors and windows with a methodical precision, and retracted my wings with a shudder. Exhausted and shaken, I collapsed onto the couch and drew a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the storm of emotions raging within me. Across the room, the cabinet that I had strategically placed to block the door in a feeble attempt at security caught my eye. It seemed almost laughable now, this mundane barricade. Despite my powers to incinerate any would-be intruder, here I was, fearing the breach of my privacy, questioning my own strength as a being endowed with extraordinary abilities. This wasn't just a breach of my physical space; it was a violation of the sanctuary I had built for myself, a place where I could shed the armour of Angel and just be Ashlee. The questions came crashing in like waves: Who were they? What were they after? The answers seemed as elusive as shadows, dancing just out of reach.
After tidying up the mess left by the intruders, I meticulously straightened the photos on the shelf. Each frame had to be perfectly aligned, a small but necessary order in the chaos of my life. My gaze landed on the photo of Mum and Dad, where they're smiling, genuinely happy. The joy in their faces was a stark contrast to the stress in Mum's voice during her last call. That's when I decided—I needed to see them, to make sure they were okay.
I changed into something 'appropriate'—or what my mother would find appropriate. I chose a smart white and yellow blouse paired with black jeans, and I slipped on a black cardigan to complete the look. My butterfly necklace lay against the blouse, a personal touch to an otherwise strictly curated outfit. As I pulled my long golden blonde hair up into a neat ponytail, I examined myself in the mirror. The reflection showed a version of myself that would meet my mother's exacting standards.
'There you go, mother, smart and appropriate,' I said, drawing out the last word with a hint of sarcasm while mimicking quotation marks in the air with my fingers. The mirror held the image of a dutiful daughter, but the rebellion in my heart was clear in my eyes. It was a small victory, but in my world of rigid order and hidden chaos, every bit of self-expression mattered.
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