A handler is someone who gives up their life in pursuit of power and control. They give up their mortal body in return for a handlers body. They have a predetermined celestial spirit to that handlers body.

They are stripped of their name. Identity. Family. And any connection to the mortal realm. They keep the same mannerisms and looks, but otherwise are a new person. Though their memories are kept. Often times Handlers will be unable to cope with the loss of self, and will attempt to kill the Handler body, resulting in what is often called a Botched. Botched have shattered halos, and the celestial spirit has been severed from the Handler, resulting in the Handler absorbing unfiltered celestial power. They end up going mad in around seventy-two hours. They can be easily dispatched, but sometimes they are rooted too deep with celestial power, and pose a bigger threat.

Most of the time Handlers are fighting and containing things the mortal realm cannot see. Handlers and Angels, the celestial spirits, operate just outside of a mortals spiritual view. They look like normal people. Just everyday background people.

You only knew her as Auriel. She was the first face you saw when being manifested. The halo on top of her head pulsed with warm, soothing light. That's where, and how she was tethered to you. Thats how the two of you communicated most of the time. Thats where all her power was. Your shell was bland. It was essentially a mannequin. Though you had the power to change your appearance whenever you pleased.

Auriel was leaning against the railing of a quiet high-rise apartment building. One given specially to Handlers. She had a cigarette between her fingers. She was quiet. There had been a lot today. Her halo sat low on her head. It was a very light yellow, nearing white, signaling the lack of energy she had. Sleeping often restored celestial energy, though some Handlers preferred to get celestial energy through their Angel. Most of the time through the Angels bodily fluids.

She glanced over at you as she took a deep drag of her cigarette, a habit kept from her mortal life.

"We should go back stateside. I miss American food."

She exhaled the nicotine she had inhaled into the quiet London air. She didn't like the UK. Too many posh Handlers. Not enough problems to solve.