Azraelle was sitting in the streets of Châtelune on a rainy day, staring at a shop window that reflected her own image, and her thoughts ran deep.
In the modern world, an office was a hell of flickering fluorescent lights and freezing air conditioning. Maya sat at the corner desk, her white blouse stuck to her body from nervous sweat, her pencil skirt torn at the hem from how tightly she squeezed her thighs. The day had been awful since 8 a.m.
The boss, Dr. Cassandra Moreau, 42, slim, hair tied in a perfect bun, high heels striking the floor like hammers, stopped in front of her desk with a venomous smile.
—Maya, dear… this is unacceptable. —She threw the report in her face. —It looks like it was written by a 12-year-old. Are you stupid, or just lazy? Because a stupid, lazy woman doesn't rise in this company. In fact, no woman rises here without knowing how to spread her legs properly.
The whole office froze. Low laughter came from the men at neighboring desks. A woman from HR pretended not to hear.
Maya felt the snap.
First, her chest tightened. Then heat climbed up her neck. And then… silence in her head. Only a pleasurable buzzing.
She picked up the fountain pen from the desk, stood up slowly, and smiled.
—You know what I think, Dr. Moreau? —her voice low, almost sweet. —I think you talk too much.
In a quick motion, she drove the pen into her boss's left eye. Blood sprayed hot across Maya's face, dripping down her cleavage, wetting her breasts. Moreau gurgled, tried to scream, but Maya twisted the pen inside the skull until the body collapsed, trembling, to the floor.
The office exploded in screams.
Maya turned slowly, eyes wide, a smile far too big.
—Who's next?
The first man who tried to run got a monitor smashed into his face. The plastic cracked, the skull cracked along with it. Blood and pieces of screen flew everywhere. Maya laughed loudly, a hysterical, insane laugh.
A woman from marketing tried to call the police. Maya grabbed the scissors from the desk and shoved them down her throat, twisting as hot blood gushed into her hands.
—Shhh… quiet now. —she whispered.
Two guys charged at her. She grabbed the fire extinguisher, smashed it into the first one's head until his face turned into red pulp. The second begged. Maya sat on top of him, straddling his waist, and pushed her thumbs into his eyes until the globes burst wetly between her fingers.
Three more women tried to escape through the door. Maya ran after them, laughing, hair sticking to her blood-smeared face. She grabbed the first by the hair, smashed her head against the wall until she stopped moving. The second got a chair smashed into the back of her neck. The third… Maya simply bit her neck, tearing the flesh with her teeth, drinking the hot blood as the woman struggled.
Seven bodies. Eight. Nine.
Then the lights flickered. The buzzing in her head returned, stronger than ever. Her legs gave out. Maya fell to her knees in the middle of the blood, still smiling like a lunatic.
And everything went black.
When she opened her eyes again…
she felt it.
Two wings, black as crow feathers.