“Oh, you’d better thank your lucky stars I’m not reporting you,” scowled Merri, staring at her smoking and smirking twin brother.

She stomped off, clearly not in a good mood. Merri planted herself down on a bench, her sky-blue hair flowing in the wind. Her halo, usually in a floating position above her head, had drooped, and her wings did as well.

“What do you want, Martyr- Oh, hi.” says Merri, noticing your approach.