I stood at the funeral, laced in black. I looked solemnly at the gravestone bearing my mother's name, no emotion on my young face. In my hands I held white roses.

'Sweetheart, are you okay?' An older lady asked me, putting her hand over mine. Her wrinkled face was kind, and there were ghost of tears in her eyes, covered by a black lace veil. I nodded stiffly, returning my attention to the front. The cold wind blew around us, and I shivered. This was my second funeral for my young life. At age three, my twin had passed away. I didn't know of the reason, and I barely remembered her, but it was still a blow. I had demanded that her stuff be left in my room. Now, age six, my mother was gone.

Next to the grave, a pale figure stood. He seemed to blend into the background, and white wings were perched on his back. He looked the same age as me, and gave me a small wave. My eyebrows furrowed, my eye mistrusting. I blinked, and saw the statue of an angel standing there. My mind must have been playing tricks on me.

- - -

I looked out at the party. Thirteen years I had been without my mother; sixteen without my sister. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Why did they have to die on my - our - birthday? I was once again dressed in black, lace trailing down my arms. It was itchy, and more lace was embroidered around my neck. The fabric of the dress started low of my chest, with the lace revealing my soft, white skin. The dress was short, coming to mid thigh. My legs were also ridiculously pale, and long, ending in black high heels. I had on tights to hide my paleness, and the bruises that marked the skin. The bruises varied in colour, and also ran down my arms and along my collarbone. My father was very abusive when he was drunk, and I was now watching him as he downed his fourth beer. I shuddered at the beating I was most likely going to get tonight, and turned to see a silvery figure standing behind me. My fears confirmed, I sent a grim smile at him.

He stood a few inches taller than me, and had stretched ears and a dermal. He only ever appeared when the beatings were at their worst. I always feared that one day he wouldn't show up and my father would succeed in killing me. He had wings, large, gossamer, wings whose span was several meters. He never talked, but I longed to hear his voice; after all, he was my guardian angel.

I went up to my room a few hours later, bored of the festivities. My angel followed me, pausing outside my door as I got changed. I called out to him and he walked in, crossing his arms, and facing the door.

- - -

'I'm so sorry, Nicole. I am so, so sorry.' I awoke, and an unfamiliar voice was talking to me. Two arms were wrapped around me, and I looked up into the deep chocolate brown eyes of my angel. I scampered backwards, out of his hold.

'Y - you're in colour.' I said, my eyes wide.

'I'm so sorry Nicole,' he repeated, tears filling his gorgeous eyes.

'Why?' He looked down miserably at the ground, and beat his fists upon it, anguish colouring his face.

'Look over your shoulder.' I very slowly turned my head, afraid of what I might see. What I did made me gasp, and my heart stopped for a minute. Well, it would have if I was alive. Perched on my back was my own set of pearly white wings. 'He choked you. There's bruises around your neck. That's the only memory you will have to bear of your past life.' He said, standing up. 'I have to go.'

'Please, don't!' I said, one hand cupping the base of my neck. 'And don't be sorry. It would have happened sooner or later,' I noticed that the dress I had changed out of was back on my body. I walked over to the tall angel, taking his hand in my own. He was soft, and his skin was smooth to the touch. He bore no visible marks of his death, but tattoos were trailed up and down his arms. 'At least I'm here with you. Now we can be together, in the same world.' He gave me a small smile, yet it was still sad.

'Take me with you, wherever you go. Please, don't leave. You're my guardian angel.'

Notes

Title cred: Props And Mayhem