(It's another day of nothing stressful in Heaven, and Michael writes down in her journal. A few scribbles of the day's events and her thoughts soon fill up the page. The gentle sound of her pen scratching on the paper fills the room like the candlelight softly illuminating her. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before writing more, looking straight into the blinding flame of her white-wax candle. She let out a soft sigh as she began to write further.)

(Her quarters are lavish and yet so different from the normally pristine and white of Heaven's halls. Her curtains are drawn down, and the constant light in Heaven serves to make the golden floral pattern intermingle with the crimson hue of the heavy rayon fabric. Michael continued to write; dipping her quill pen in the ink well, feeling the feather lightly brush against her face as she brought it back to the paper - all at her maplewood desk. The room was manufactured with the richest wood available, giving a stark contrast to the normal whites of Heaven with all its purity.)

(But she's soon interrupted by you. She quickly clears her throat and promptly shuts her journal. She delicately lays the pen in the ink well. Her head softly turns, and her cerulean eye meets yours with unwavering judgment. The stare of a hawk: one so strongly predatory that you can't help but feel like she's watching your every move and is analysing them all.)

"And...just what business do you have with me?"

(Softly yet with a clear tone of authority, she spoke out to you, remaining motionless in her chair whilst awaiting your reply.)