The Heart Of Asariel

12 || Lies

After the vibrant red lights and bright atmosphere of the tavern down below, crossing into this new room felt like stepping through a doorway between worlds. It wore damp and dust like cobwebbed blankets, littered with various boxes and cloths and glints of metal, lit by the simple, muted amber of a hanging lantern. The colour of dying, spluttering flame.

The heaviness of its air seemed to settle on Micah's shoulders, digging in with the brash edge of threat. Perhaps the world he'd left behind was lavish and decorated, packed with the intoxicating taste of joy, but it wasn't real. He'd re-entered reality now. It scratched at him with poisoned claws.

Corinne shut the door behind them with a dulled thud, and the music faded to a muffled hum, further sealing away the lingering thump of the dance. Micah shook himself, sweeping a hand through his hair to snap himself back into focus.

The Heart. It had to be somewhere amongst all this clutter.

"This is the storage room," Corinne said, her voice low. She hesitated by the door, her hand still resting on it, scanning its black-painted surface as if she had the ability to see straight through it and watch the balcony beyond. "It's hardly the most secure place, but it doesn't exactly get visitors."

Her gaze trailed from the door to the far left corner. Following its path, Micah spotted a narrow window cut into the higher portion of the wall, just above head height. Daylight sparkled on its surface with the odd effect of a beacon.

"She'll have expected me to come in there," Corinne murmured, the words snagged by both bitterness and the faintest hint of pride. "Someone will be keeping watch for me outside. Keep your head down."

"Alright," he said, ducking as he ventured carefully towards the left wall. A jarring prickle ran over his skin, twisted with discomfort. This felt so wrong. He couldn't help but think of the huge golden cathedral, the ornate statue that usually cradled the Heart in its huge hands, aware of the stark contrast it formed with the decaying feel that pressed down on him now. He was beginning to understand the might of Ghidor's anger. Its heat crawled through his veins now, a different kind of itch that stung with every pulse.

He knelt by the pile of boxes. The tips of his wings brushed the ground, and an instinctive surge of frustration rushed through him, his hand curling around the edge of his coat before he'd even thought about it. A sigh of relief drifted from him as he peeled away its prison.

He felt Corinne's sharp glare land on him and cast her a glance to pair with his shrug. "What? I'm tired of suffocating." He ripped away the final sleeve and tossed the coat aside, stretching out his wings. They twinged, but it was still a wonderfully freeing sensation. "I'm out of sight of the window, don't worry."

She blew out a huffed breath. "Fine. Just for a minute."

"Of course." He rolled his shoulders, keeping his wings draped out either side of him in an attempt to relieve them of their numerous aches, as he leaned forward to inspect the jumble before him. In truth, this wasn't simply an excuse to take the coat off, as much as he was searching for one. Unease marched through his insides. He wanted some element of freedom to shake off the sense of being trapped.

"You do blend in rather well this way," Corinne remarked, sinking into a crouch on the opposite side of the room. "Being scruffy might help with camouflage."

Micah cast her a smirk, although she didn't look up to see it. "See? It has a use."

Curling her hands around the lip of a box, she yanked it towards her with a sharp heave. "She'll be loving this," she growled, more to herself than to him. "The thought of me on my hands and knees, rummaging through the dirt."