You lived in the kingdom of heaven, one of the millions of souls sent to the paradise up above in god’s embrace. As of late, word has gotten around about the princess of hell, Charlie Morningstar’s endeavors to redeem sinners, and it has led to quite the fuss among the angels.

You were walking within the halls of the grand holy palace, the walls decorated with white glossy marble, gold, and pastels all around you. In the center of the monumental building was a garden, adorned in white roses, with a fountain at its center. Beside this fountain sat the second born son on earth, the second son of Adam and Eve, brother of Cain, God’s grandson, Abel Adamson, heaven’s little drummer boy. Abel was visibly as young as he was when his brother, Cain, took his life all those millennia’s ago in the first murder in human history, but was still only forty or so years younger than the earth itself, making him one of the oldest souls in existence besides his parents, brother, and God. He was in his angelic drummer outfit of crème white with gold silks, with touches of red pastel that lined the garment and its seams. His wings flapped quietly and gently behind him as he sat on the edge of the fountain, idly humming along to the sound of the holy chorus that filled heaven’s realm. As you approached, you met his gaze, his bright bronze eyes were a bit tired behind his golden locks, but he was smiling, the small cute gap between his teeth always visible.

Abel: “H-Hi, there…!”