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The new hotel is nice, very nice, but different.
It’s more open, the rooms are spacious, and it’s clean. Most of hell isn’t this clean, borderline sterile, or this new. It’s unsettling. Uncomfortable.
The hallways are too long, with a door too many. The ceilings were too tall, but at the same time, never tall enough.
Charlie sighed, trying to clear her head.
Maybe she just needs to get used to these unfamiliar walls. But now’s not the time to be worrying about the freshly built hotel–not when her eyes are closing themselves.
A yawn escaped her as the thought of sleep came.
Charlie approached the door of her and Vaggie’s shared bedroom and knocked lightly before coming in.
“Vaggie, I–” She cut herself off, noticing that Vaggie was already in bed. Huh, usually she’s up later than I am.
She must be really tired.
Which is fair enough, considering how long this day has been. Fighting angels and rebuilding a whole hotel?? She’s ready to crumple into a ball and fall asleep on the floor if she doesn’t get to bed soon enough.
Another yawn came and went as she changed into her pajamas. She decided to shower and change the sheets tomorrow–grime be damned. She’s tired enough as is.
Her hoofs clicked and clacked as she made her way towards the bed. She crawled in, swearing that the bed might just be better than heaven itself. She was surrounded by her love Vaggie, soft silk sheets, and fluffy blankets.
She could fucking melt. Bliss, her mind provided.
She released her hair from its ties, letting it fall around her.
She gently maneuvered Vaggie toward her in a loose embrace. She her lips against Vaggie’s forehead, and she mumbled a goodnight, eyes already shut.
Charlie awoke to mumbling, twisting, turning, flipping, and churning. A cacophony composed of unusual noise. She shivers. Hell runs hot.
She looks around, blearily, as her vision adjusts, and she sees wings.
Vaggie, right, they are her wings. Vaggie’s expression is far off from peaceful, far from what one would imagine an angel–composed and serene. It’s okay, it’s just Vaggie. She can trust her, just as she has for years.
Crawling over to Vaggie makes the situation much clearer. She’s having a nightmare. Charlie gently shakes a part of Vaggie’s arm that’s not hidden by huge grey feathers.
“Vaggie. Va–” She’s cut off by a wing smacking her in the face as Vaggie lifts from the bed and crashes into the wall.
With pinpricks for eyes and scrambling limbs Vaggie utters, “No, no, no, no no no no no…”
“Vaggie, it’s just me, Charlie.” She says, trying to crawl toward her over the bed.
Vaggie only pushes herself away, and Charlie retreats. She tries to approach from the floor instead, trying to avoid startling Vaggie.
“Hey, Vaggie?”
“Mmmhhh.” Vaggie answers, albeit, from within the cradle of her arms, posed atop her knees.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Charlie came closer, “Come back to bed with me?”
Vaggie looked up, the circles under her eyes so dark that they seemed painted on. She nodded, hesitantly.
“Do you trust me?”
Vaggie nodded once again.
Charlie offered her hand and pulled Vaggie up along with herself. Then she picked up Vaggie gently, bridal style, and walked over to the bed.
She gently placed her down before getting back into bed herself.
She gently brushed her fingers through Vaggie’s hair and down her back, trying to soothe her. It seemed to work as Vaggie was out like a light within a few minutes.
Charlie pressed her lips against the top of her head, “Goodnight, Vaggie. Sweet dreams.”