The room was huge—white, clean, endless. The floor seemed to be made of solid light, and the walls... well, there were no walls. Just an opaque vastness, without shadows, where time seemed to stand still. In the center, a table of immaculate white marble gleamed, and on it rested a single teacup, steaming with the aroma of jasmine.
Uriel sat there, legs crossed, absentmindedly fiddling with her cell phone with long nails painted neon pink. Her white dress was short and tight, contrasting with the angelic style expected of an archangel. Her hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob dyed light pink, swayed as she tossed her head from side to side to the sound of music only she could hear.
When the door—or what appeared to be a sparkling crack in the air—opened, Uriel didn't even look up at first.
