CHAPTER ONE

Take a Breathe, Just Take a Seat, You're Falling Apart, Tearing at the Seams

When I was a child, I was saved by an angel. My mother would tell me the story almost every day, whenever I cried over a scraped knee or pouted over a lost toy. It was mom's way of saying "be glad you're alive".

Since I was little, I can't remember much of it, so I had to take mom's word for it. If I asked my brother, he'd get fidgety and avoid the subject; Dad just blew me off completely.

So I was saved by an angel. I was seven, a jolly, happy little girl. My mom called me Josey Girl. I don't know why; my name is Samantha. It might've had something to do with the fact I was a lot like my mother's sister, Josey.

Anyway, that day, my brother and I were playing in the street, and to be frank, I was almost hit by a 1990's SUV. But it was then this mystical deity came in the form of a flash of light.

I remember being blind, and flailing about, and my mother's screams. Most of all, I do remember being cradled by warm, strong arms, and then blackness.

Only twelve years later, and I still have my mother's words about the incident engraved in my mind.

"There was this beautiful light, and a strong flap of wings, and next I knew you were in my arms. It was a miracle, Josey girl."

Mother died seven years later, and Dad had a heart attack three years after that. My brother moved to the big city, but he still calls me, his little country bumpkin sister. So, I'm alone now.

Sometimes, when I feel really terrible, and I stumble into bed, clutching the sheets and sobbing my heart out, I'll feel a comforting wind floating through the wind I was sure I'd closed. Or maybe I feel a weight on the bed that isn't there, and I'm warm as if there was someone beside me.

Those are the times that prove to me that my angel is real. I don't know who it is. But when I pray to God, I make a special prayer for my angel.

An angel saved my life once.

And to my surprise, an angel would save my life again.

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I wonder what blood tastes like.

Often I find myself randomly wondering about things like this. When I saw the blood flow down my trembling limbs that was what came into my mind. Normal people would fight for their lives when stabbed by a mugger, instead of bothering to wonder whether or not her own blood would tickle the palette, but I suppose I am not normal.

It occurs to me that the knife in my gut really hurts. I suppose I should remove it. So that's what I do once the greedy thief runs off into the night with his spoils.

I am finding it is not so easy to dislodge a kitchen knife from your ribs. Since I don't want to cause more damage, I leave the knife and begin to stumble down the street.

I am beginning to wonder why there are three signs directing me to Parson Street. But I suppose it's the blood loss.

Too late; I collapse against one of the three Parson Street signs (I am not even sure it is Parson St; I can no longer read)

Dying was not really what I had planned on doing today. Well, I guess things don't always go as planned.

I feel a presence nearby, warmth caressing my chilly form. As my lungs heave and burn, I hear the sound of wings.

A voice is floating through the air.

Damn, girl, one hour off the job, and your already in trouble!

A chill shivers down my spine. Was it my angel speaking to me?

"I… think I'm going to die" I found myself whispering weakly, my breath leaving me.

You don't have to.

I'm a little surprised, but I listen.

A friend of mine is going to die. I want him to live. But he's a bit of a fallen angel.

My breaths become shallow. I don't think I can see anymore; that, or all the light in the world has gone out.

If you take care of him, I'll give you a second chance. Who knows; you might like this guy better than me.

The idea is foreign to me. The angel has always been here, for as long as I can remember. But how can I refuse?

"What is… my new angel's… name?"

I whisper my last words as I die. Laughter echoes through my ears very gently. Tiredly, I look to see a tranquil blue light.

"His name is Sephiroth."

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I woke up, and all I could remember was those four words: His name is Sephiroth. I feel for my wound as the memories come flying back; the wound is now a scar. I've never had a scar before. Curious, I look it over. It's so odd and big and strange looking. I suppose my wound was worse than I thought.

So where was Sephiroth? And what was I supposed to do? Why hadn't my angel told me more?

I stumble to the bathroom. I stare at my tired eyes.

I am average. I am ordinary. There is nothing in me that stands out. I am a mole on the porcelain skin of Planet Earth; a disgusting plain girl. I am nothing; no friends, and a brother who lives in a different state. I am nothing.

Dim blue eyes stare back at me with nothing. Dirty blonde hair reflects nothing in the light. Dark tan skin now marked with the car on my left side. My clothes are soaked in blood and sweat.

So I bath, watching the caked blood leave my hair and nail beds. The water is cold, but I like it. I like cold.

I step out and dress in a gray shirt and black sweats. Still, I don't see anyone, much less an angel.

It's when I step downstairs that I know I am in the presence of an angel.

It's unlike anything I'd ever imagined. There are two of them. The door quietly opens to allow them in, and in they step, bathed in light.

One is carried by the other, blood soaked and beaten and bruised, poor soul. He is so beautiful. His hair sparkles and shines a glimmering silver soft and smooth soothing to the touch. How can his skin be so perfect? My body burns with the want to touch him.

I am embarrassed to say he is naked and that seeing him is my first experience of seeing a naked man. But if his face is that of an angel, his masculine form is certainly the same.

As for the angel who held him, I know by instinct he is my angel.

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There was a pregnant silence as my Angel stepped in, letting the one I supposed was Sephiroth lie on my sofa, bleeding all over. I didn't really mind.

I feel so self conscious in his presence, so afraid and intimidated. With disdain, I realized I am crying.

My angel came to me, kissed my forehead, and held me to reassure me.

"Take good care of him, all right?" My Angel's voice was so beautiful.

He backs away, headed back to that beautiful, crystalline light. I find that am reluctant to be left alone.

"Wait" I murmur. "What's your name?"

My Angel chuckles elegantly as he turns to be engulfed in the shimmering light.

"My name is Zack."

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The spell seems to lift once Zack stepped away and the light fades. All was back to normal as I look to Sephiroth. He looks strong… maybe even dangerous.

For the first time I am beginning to wonder what I've gotten myself into.