The clock strikes eleven. Turning sixteen is, in most cases, a milestone in every girl's life.
Sweet sixteen, as they say.
In Rachel's case, it may be a milestone in more ways than one, and it's not exactly a cause for celebration. There won't be a party and there won't be cake and there won't be any presents. There won't be much of anything except trying to get through the fact her whole physionomy might be changing in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes till midnight and everything might change.
It might be changing.
It might not be changing.
Rachel's mother is human. Rachel's father, who passed away when Rachel was seven, was an Angel of Knowledge. There is a fifty percent chance she will be turning into an angel. There is a fifty percent chance she will remain a human, which is honestly what she is hoping for despite how different it may make her from her best friends, who are now all angels and/or demons. There is no way to know for sure until midnight. To say that she is nerve-wracked is an understatement. She hasn't moved from her spot on the floor, her back against the bed, knees to her chest. She's biting on the nail of her thumb with her eyes trained on the clock, remembering to breathe only every so often.
She has no idea what to expect. She was very little when her father passed, and her mother is human, wholly unaware of what it means to be an angel. It's one of the many reasons why they cannot relate to each other, surprisingly not the most important one. Thankfully, she will not have to find out on her own, as Noah is going to be there with her.
Rachel didn't want anyone to be witness to something like this. Her mother's passed out on the living room couch and all of her friends have been told she will write a journal entry when she can/when she knows. The door is locked and she told her mother to stay away no matter what she was hearing from the outside. But if she would have to let anyone be there it would be Noah, and it's her complete lack of understanding in this front that doesn't let her turn the offer down. She is used to knowing so many things. This is an area she is admittedly completely ignorant in, no matter how she saw her friends in the aftermath and visited them while they were recuperating.
It isn't the same thing, and that's why he's in the room with her, waiting for midnight, too.
It's eleven-fifteen, and she honestly thinks she might be sick. "I hate waiting," she says, forcing out a soft laugh, though there's a small shakiness in her voice, fingers drumming against her knee absently.
Sweet sixteen, as they say.
In Rachel's case, it may be a milestone in more ways than one, and it's not exactly a cause for celebration. There won't be a party and there won't be cake and there won't be any presents. There won't be much of anything except trying to get through the fact her whole physionomy might be changing in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes till midnight and everything might change.
It might be changing.
It might not be changing.
Rachel's mother is human. Rachel's father, who passed away when Rachel was seven, was an Angel of Knowledge. There is a fifty percent chance she will be turning into an angel. There is a fifty percent chance she will remain a human, which is honestly what she is hoping for despite how different it may make her from her best friends, who are now all angels and/or demons. There is no way to know for sure until midnight. To say that she is nerve-wracked is an understatement. She hasn't moved from her spot on the floor, her back against the bed, knees to her chest. She's biting on the nail of her thumb with her eyes trained on the clock, remembering to breathe only every so often.
She has no idea what to expect. She was very little when her father passed, and her mother is human, wholly unaware of what it means to be an angel. It's one of the many reasons why they cannot relate to each other, surprisingly not the most important one. Thankfully, she will not have to find out on her own, as Noah is going to be there with her.
Rachel didn't want anyone to be witness to something like this. Her mother's passed out on the living room couch and all of her friends have been told she will write a journal entry when she can/when she knows. The door is locked and she told her mother to stay away no matter what she was hearing from the outside. But if she would have to let anyone be there it would be Noah, and it's her complete lack of understanding in this front that doesn't let her turn the offer down. She is used to knowing so many things. This is an area she is admittedly completely ignorant in, no matter how she saw her friends in the aftermath and visited them while they were recuperating.
It isn't the same thing, and that's why he's in the room with her, waiting for midnight, too.
It's eleven-fifteen, and she honestly thinks she might be sick. "I hate waiting," she says, forcing out a soft laugh, though there's a small shakiness in her voice, fingers drumming against her knee absently.
40 comments | Leave a comment