Chapter 01

  Angel of Apocalypse

  To whom it may concern up above, please heed my humble complaint: I am currently being haunted by an angel.

  About a week has passed since the so-called “Angel of Apocalypse” first appeared in my dream, only to freak me out the next morning in broad daylight. It certainly isn’t helpful when the particular angel in question does not enjoy keeping his mouth shut either. Frankly, the most basic of chores have become needlessly arduous in his unsolicited company.

  Even now, while I walk down a long reaching corridor carrying a wooden basket stuffed with dirty bedsheets, I am being nagged.

  “Do you intend to let her drag you around like that forever?” sneers a low voice. To my left, a yellow smear of light seems to radiate warmly. At certain hours of the day, the angel’s silhouette becomes a tad bit more defined, but it’s still difficult to grasp his exact appearance.

  “This isn’t even your job.” The angel pouts. “You should be preparing for the end of the world, not doing the laundry!”

  In the same way I’ve done for the past few days, I ignore him completely.

  “Why are you doing this? Or more like, why are you allowing those nobodies to walk all over you?”

  Nobodies.

  Be amazed, fellow citizens of planet Averada.

  Witness the words of a truly divine being.

  This ghostly pestering has gone on for days without a single break, not stopping even for a second. At this rate, my brain won’t be able to handle this and will undoubtedly turn into mush.

  Did I actually overwork myself? Is this finally the end of the line for me? Have I driven myself to the point where the very fabrics of reality have severed and are now cast too far out of reach? Now, I’m seeing things that aren’t even real?

  Well, I guess it’s too late to think about it now. Even so, even if I have truly lost it, that is not going to stop me from working.

  No, in fact, I must resist.

  In all my 21 years of existence, I have never faced a more formidable threat. Yet, I will persevere.

  I, Belle Ruth, refuse to be taken down by a mere hallucination!

  “Are you seriously ignoring me right now?” The angel huffs. The temperature on my left rises slightly, a glow of light brightening in my peripheral. During the first couple days, that would have made me shiver, fearing that I had angered a real supernatural entity. Now, I just sigh.

  “Did you just…?” He suddenly drops his tone and starts to hum, “So~ you’ve finally decided to drop your guard around me, huh?”

  Without responding, I continue walking. Regardless of my indifference, the angel babbles on, no longer bothered by my silence in the slightest.

  “Look at you—used to my presence already! Hah! That’s right, I knew you were special from the start, much better than that rude servant girl, that’s for sure.” cackles the angel.

  He’s wrong, by the way.

  I am another servant girl. Just like the maid who shoved her morning tasks onto me with the excuse of being deathly sick, which was rich coming from someone dressed in outerwear from top to bottom and covered in make-up.

  Why did I not refuse even though she bold-faced lied? Well, it’s simple. I am an experienced laborer, that’s all. After working in the same mansion for over a decade now, you learn that the best thing you can aim for is to work comfortably with absolutely zero drama.

  What can I say?

  I’m a simple maid with a simple wish: to persist.

  I dress the same wrinkled uniform, wear the same ruffled bonnet, and live the same mundane lifestyle as I have for the last ten years or more. Nothing is going to change that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

  “I would open the door for you, my dear, but my physical form has yet to manifest,” the angel says as we stop by a door leading to the outside.

  “Don’t blame me for that,” I mutter, reaching the door knob.

  As soon as it clicks and twists, I’m attacked by a bone-chilling breeze that has my teeth chattering. A wave of wind tickles my cheek and bites my exposed neck. I tuck my chin deeper into my collar.

  “Never meant to, dear.” he responds, “This will take time, that’s all.”

  I take my basket full of linen and plop it next to a rectangular, porcelain sink on the floor. There’s a stool by the side that I grab and sit on. I take a soap and a washboard from my basket. Time to start business.

  I twist the faucet and clear water gushes out. As the water pours, I wait as a tiny puddle forms and rises, gradually filling the basin. At a quarter-way full, I turn the knob. The water stills and my face mirrors back at me.

  A woman with grey eyes stares listlessly, cheeks pale and lips chapped. A few short strands of pitch black peak out the sides of her white bonnet. Her face, though strained and weary from tireless labour and thankless effort, could not be considered ugly, but it would be laughable to call it beautiful.

  Average.

  Just average is what I’d describe the woman in my reflection.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “I believe…” the angel pauses, “you should really come to terms with your duty soon.”

  Not this again.

  “If you’re still trying to convince me that the world is ending and the only chance we have to prevent it is through me, then you’ve already lost.”

  The angel gasps.

  “But that’s exactly it! The world is ending and you have been chosen as the key figure that will deny destiny. I think it is only right to treat this great honour with utmost respect.”

  I drop some soap and the water transforms into a misty swirl of foam and liquid. The grey-eyed woman fades away.

  “Do angels think? Because I certainly did not get that from you,” I snort, grabbing a pillow cover from my basket and dipping it into the soapy water. As my knuckles graze against the ice cold water, a chill flashes through my veins. I clench my teeth and continue washing.

  “Well, I’m sorry for my occasional confusion,” the angel scowls. “I was born a few days ago.”

  Hah… Indeed.

  This absolute menace first arrived in a dream three days ago. Back then, he told me I was chosen as some ‘vessel’ who could harness his powers and anchor him to the human world. Apparently, the birth of his existence has something to do with an unknown incident that created a fracture in reality, thus triggering ‘Doom Day’, or so he calls it. I still don’t really get it. But for a regular, powerless citizen like me, I probably don’t have the capacity to understand anyway.

  Though I must say, calling this guy a divine being, such as an angel, is rather embarrassing. I had to name him since he either doesn’t have one or cannot remember his name. In both cases, it’s still pathetic.

  So, he’s Aca now.

  Initially, I suggested the name, Apoka, short for apocalypse, but he hated that. Said it sounded like the annoying rooster he heard earlier in the morning. In the end, we went with a more roundabout approach.

  “What exactly is my duty, anyway?” I ask Aca.

  The yellow glow of his presence shimmers warmly, golden sparks crackling all around.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” He cheers gleefully. “Indeed, that is a good question.”

  “…What? Oh my goodness, are you serious?” I sigh, “how do you not—”

  The door opens and I shut my mouth immediately.

  I’m infamous for a couple of reasons, but I don’t want to be known as the crazy lady who talks to herself as well. Well, it’s not certain whether I am completely sane, given that I talk to an angel every day whose mission is to use me to save the world.

  A woman with the same uniform as me walks out with her own basket of linen. As soon as she walks out, the corner of my lips curve upwards. I’d recognize those brown braids any day.

  “Stella?”

  “Yup,” the girl with brown braids confirms.

  “It’s four in the morning, what are you doing out here?” I ask Stella as she places her basket next to me and grabs a stool of her own.

  “I would ask you the same,” she grunts as she reaches over and turns on the faucet. “But I think we both know.”

  Right.

  We are similar in that way. We’re both pushovers.

  “Hah…” I sigh. “Why are we like this?”

  “That’s what I want to ask,” Aca mocks.

  Shut it, demon-angel.

  Anyway… Stella Eleanor Pierce.

  Once a noble daughter, now a common cleaning maid in the wake of her family’s sudden fall from aristocracy. From when she first arrived here, a little over two years ago, Stella and I have gotten along pretty well as roommates.

  It’s easy to like Stella.

  Humble. Modest. Diligent. You would never expect it from a so-called ‘former noble’. In fact, over the years I’ve discovered we share a lot in common. Reading. A knack for embroidery. Strawberry on toast. She’s basically the younger sister I never had.

  At least, that I’m aware of.

  I wring out the last drop of water from a wet cloth and throw it onto a pile of other washed linen in the basket.

  “You can leave your basket there. I’ll dry them together with mine,” Stella offers.

  “Oh, she’s nice,” whispers Aca, which is totally unnecessary as I’m the only one who can hear him.

  “No, no.” I reject. “Why would you do that?”

  Behind me, the angel clicks his tongue in disappointment.

  “Just quickly finish your own tasks and go back to the room,” I wave Stella off. “Tomorrow’s your big day. You should get some rest before breakfast.”

  “I’m fine,” Stella says firmly. “Anyways, I think Miss Marbury will need you earlier today, she’s been rushing everything these days.”

  I look over at Stella crouched down washing her own set of dirty linen. Her body looks years younger than it should. The arms scrubbing cloth against wood are thin and malnourished. Her face is gaunt and her skirt seems a size too large, barely hugging her waist. As the only child, Stella had little choice but to help support her parents the best she could after their bankruptcy. Thus, at the vulnerable age of sixteen, having suddenly been shoved into the world of the middle class, Stella’s growth inevitably hit pause.

  “Stella, you know I can’t make you do that, but I appreciate the thought.”

  “You should go,” Stella says, completely dismissing me, “It’s not like Miss Marbury knows you’re busy doing this.”

  I shake my head, “There is no nee—”

  “Plus,” she turns the faucet off and looks directly at me, “I’m grateful, but you don’t have to keep treating me like a kid. I can handle myself just fine,”

  Stella smiles, “I’m already eighteen after all.”

  In a day, Stella. In a day.

  I open my mouth to say the words, but a nosy presence burns my back.

  “Just let her help you, you stubborn oaf!” Aca hisses. “Everyone knows you’re the busiest maid in Rutherford, and the sweet girl only wants to lend you a hand!”

  “…”

  I want to tell Aca to shut it, as usual, but… am I being too overbearing?

  Maybe there is some truth to his words.

  My only intention is to treat Stella well, and maybe she can live a little more comfortably. Admittedly, I do end up going too far at times. Perhaps she’s sick of me ‘parenting’ when I’m not even family, when she already has family. Perhaps I do need to stop being so intrusive.

  “So, just go, alright?” Stella pleads. “Just think of it as returning the favour from when you covered my kitchen shift the last time I was sick.”

  “Hmm…” I look at Stella only to find her staring back with pouting lips and a determined look in her eyes.

  I sigh, yielding to the fervent girl.

  “Fine then. Look at this responsible woman, they grow up so fast,” I tease, attempting to pat her on the head.

  She ducks and swats my hand away. I laugh.

  “I’ll see you around, my sweet castella.”

  “Get away from me, belladona.”