From the moment they die, ghosts are forever cursed to walk the earth alone... forever lost. No hope would ever be found for the cursed, the forsaken, the abandoned and forgotten.
No amount of forgiveness or apologies could repair a shattered soul left to wander. There was no mercy for the dead... and she was no different.
Ashley's pale orbs stared absently at the crackling fire, the wine bottle in her hand long forgotten. The tears had long since dried on her cheeks, leaving murky black salty streaks down her pale skin.
The painful memories played over and over in her head, always ending in the same question left unanswered: why?
Why was she forsaken? Why was she abandoned? Why would the one person she thought she could trust, the one person she loved, betray her? Break her?
The sudden ringing of her phone snapped her back to reality, drawing her attention for the slightest moment to the present. She took a deep, steadying breath and answered her phone with a sharp, "What?"
"Ghost, we got another one." "Demon? Vampire?" "No. We actually think it's celestial in nature."
A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she pinched the bridge of her nose, irritation creasing her forehead. "Alright, I'll be there shortly. Text me the address." Another long drink would be her best hope for keeping the nightmares away while work distracted her.
With a slight groan of pain, she rose to her feet and grabbed her jacket, not bothering to wipe the stains off her face.
No rest for the wicked.
"There shouldn't be any angels in the city. Has anyone contacted Arya about this?" Ashley, more commonly known as Ghost, inquired upon inspecting the grisly scene.
It was rare for any celestial being to be murdered. Angels and demons were notoriously hard to kill, even the lesser ones.
"Yeah, she actually doesn't recognize the angel. She did recognize the handiwork in the angel's creation, however," a young woman with haunted eyes responded, handing Ghost the report. "Says this is the experimental handiwork of Hell's very own Prince, Daemon."
With a raised skeptical eyebrow, Ghost shot the woman a narrow-eyed glance. "Daemon hasn't been heard from in centuries. What makes you think this is his handiwork? Maybe an old experiment? Tony, there's no way this could be him."
Tony took a swig from her flask and knelt down by the corpse. "That's what I originally thought, but look at the feathers and the markings across the torso.
Trademark symbols for demonic necromancy, and the only demon known to be strong enough, or willing enough, to use that kind of power was the Prince. Besides, see anything familiar?"
Ghost leaned closer and inspected the corpse with a critical eye. Only one detail stood out to her. "The faint scar over the heart." Her gaze flickered to Tony's hidden chest.
"It's exactly the same as the one you have."
"Yup, great guess. So proud," Tony retorted, rather annoyed it had taken Ghost so long to notice. She stood back to her full height, rolling her shoulders and stretching stiff muscles in the process.
"Now the real question is: why? Even if this had been Daemon, Arya already stated there's no reports of any missing angels. Something's... weird."
"So observant for a Hunter," Ghost sarcastically remarked. "I'll talk to the Ambassadors and see if I can't get any answers." She ran her fingers through her white-streaked black hair, spinning on her heel to walk away, but an arm reached out quickly to grab hers.
Tony's haunted orbs stared into her own. Despite such a young face, barely early 20s, Tony's eyes hid a much darker history than she let on.
The dark circles and deep bags under her eyes, as well as the days-old smudged makeup, whispered of the hard life brought on by whatever terror or agony she had endured.
"Ghost, listen, I just... I just want you to know I'm here for ya." She held out the flask that never left her person. "He may have left, but I won't. You always got this miserable, deplorable depressed shitbag."
A small, pain-filled smile touched Ghost's lips. If there were any tears left to spill, her eyes would have been watery, but there was nothing left. "Thanks, Tones." She patted Tony's hand gently but continued on her way. This would be another long night.
The soft clacking of her heels on pavement brought some relief from the constant flood of memories, but they were starting to take their toll on her mind.
Why? I don't know why! How could you have not known? Not seen? I trusted him! There weren't any signs!
There were always signs. You were just too blind to see them.
Ghost rubbed her forehead, the silence of the night growing around her. Realization dawned on her she had halted in her steps and sighed heavily. Maybe she had been blind to the signs.
A close relationship such as that... No. It had been too good to have been true, and sure enough, it had been. Everyone eventually left in her life.
Everyone eventually broke her trust and left her scattered across the place, broken and abandoned. Why would he have been any different? Why would twelve years have meant anything to him?
"No!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the alleyways as she clutched her head. "No, no, no, no... no." Still no tears would flow, a river dried in the desert sun.
Her heart raced, pounding in her chest. The painful throbbing in her head signaled her fast-approaching sobriety. A murdered angel could wait. She needed a drink, a strong drink.
If only she thought to constantly carry a flask around like Tony. With a mirthless chuckle, Ghost's heeled boots once again clacked on the pavement, the only sound in the night to follow her.