She turned around to find the first nation’s woman with raven black hair and black eyes staring at her. As usual she wore a long white gown that never interacted with the physical realm. There was a faint smile, a clue that the angel was trying to appear more human during their interactions.
“I want to go,” Clara countered.
“Why would the goddess then spend her time messaging the one she left behind?”
Eleanor did not knowingly attack or manipulate, because she was the construct. An angel fashioned by Hecate to guide souls to their final destination. That means she’s simply being direct…
“You’re getting too good at reading me,” Clara teased.
“I’ve been at this for over a millennia,” Eleanor replied.

Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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