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[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent]Rain, mixed with small pieces of hail, pelted the windows of the hospital. Thunder rumbled in the distance, dancing along the curves of the mountains and causing it to reverberate throughout the valley. Occasionally, lightning ripped through the sky and painted the buildings and trees dark against the horizon. It was an ominous evening, and everyone felt it within the walls of the hospital.

Vans from various news stations were parked outside. Newscasters with umbrellas hanging over them recited what little they knew about Mara Swaim’s return. The Caulder’s Hollow Sheriff Department was out in full force this evening. The tans of their uniforms darkened by the rain as they barricaded the outside of the hospital. The doors were shut and locked—far past visiting hours even for those that had loved ones inside. Within the hospital, everything was both eerily quiet and busy. The staff roved the hallways, talking under their breath about Mara Swaim. Each one of them considered opening her chart until they were reminded it was a criminal offense.

The nurse’s station in the ICU was practically abandoned as they rounded to their patients. Jane Harris, Mara’s nurse, and Dr. Reaves, her physician, stood just inside the room. The drapes had been pulled over the windows, but the flashes of lightning and cameras still bled in on occasion. The news droned, almost mute, from the television affixed in the corner. Jane moved towards Mara’s pulse ox, noting the readings on the computer by the bedside. “She seems stable, Bill,” Jane said to Dr. Reaves. Their familiarity came from years of working together. She was the most senior nurse on the staff, and he was the Director. Usually, they didn’t have patients, but Mara Swaim was a different matter—a different person.

“It looks like we got her lab work back,” she said, clicking the various tabs on the chart. “Her CBC is mostly normal. White count’s elevated, and she’s a little anemic but nothing alarming. Her eosinophils are a little raised though. Wonder what she could be allergic to.”

Dr. Reaves ran a hand through his hair, it had started graying at the temples many years back. “The lab called earlier and asked to speak to me. They’d performed a blood smear. The first one they did, there was… ‘precipitant’ in it. They said they changed reagents, asked for a redraw, and then reran it. They said it showed up again—these crystalline-like artifacts. They sent the blood off to St. Michael’s down the road to get retested.” He paused. “They said it was contamination. But they’re not seeing what I am seeing now.”

Mara Swaim laid out on the bed; her once peach-hued skin was faint blue with golden veins running through it like a porcelain vase. Her right arm was bandaged with dried blood the color of purple, bleeding through. Her hair was long and iridescent, reflecting the blue of her skin. She was currently in a hospital gown, the liquid-like dress having been stripped from her and put into a bag that Dr. Reaves had to lock away personally. Yet, all that was so inconsequential to the massive crystalline wings that sprouted from her back and currently were suspended from makeshift harnesses. They glittered in the light of the room and pulsed with the flashes of lightning. Dr. Reaves had tried to remove them. But he swiftly discovered they were attached—[i]attached.[/i]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/KBI9FP0.png[/img]

He turned to address Jane at the same time a bolt of lightning struck, blinding them. The power flickered with the rumble of thunder. The machines screamed as the emergency power was overridden. “STOP!” blasted out from a pixelated voice on the television before it popped and sizzled dead.

Mara Swaim bolted up, pulling the IV forward and letting it clatter on the ground. She glanced around frantically before her eyes settled on Dr. Reaves and Jane Harris. The wings flexed in their makeshift harnesses, but they seemed almost too weak to do anything else. Mara’s eyes went wide. “Where am I?” she asked.
Dr. Reaves stared behind thick spectacles. The nurse cleared her throat, “you’re in the hospital.”
“Caulder’s Hollow?” Mara asked, turning her gaze to the television. She smiled as a whisper of smoke went up from the back of it.
“Y-yes,” Dr. Reaves stuttered out. “Mara? Mara Swaim? Wh-what happened?”

[img]https://i.imgur.com/BnyCzVz.png[/img]

Mara redirected her gaze, tilting her head to the side. “Mara Swaim?” She twisted her mouth as if trying the name on her tongue. “I don’t know what that is. Is it a thing?”
“It’s you,” the nurse responded.
Mara looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. “To think I had such a small, powerless thing as a name once. But, if you must call me anything, call me Angel.”
“Angel?” Dr. Reaves asked, a laugh behind his voice. The weirdness of the situation causing his mind to slip a bit into hysteria. “Isn’t that childish?”
“To those that think angels aren’t the harbingers of change, maybe. I’m going to fix it.” She smiled. “[i]Omnia iam fient quae posse negabam.[/i]”

[img]https://i.imgur.com/3avzXrc.png[/img]

And then the doors opened.[/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/f3mrtPT.png[/img][/center]