Chapter 3: [1] Pretender

"This. . ." Claire Hill furrowed her brows and looked at the area before her with crimson irises.

An endless space of pure white stretched to infinity. Extending beyond her vision, and failing to disappear into the horizon, it simply had no end. Surreal was the world. It appeared more like an illusion than anything that should exist in reality.

She stared below at a swirling mass of clouds that served as the ground of the place. She had absolutely no idea how her feet could be planted within and yet still remain standing. She swerved her head around, her black hair bellowing and falling to her hips as she wondered exactly where she was.

At that moment, the clouds swerved and gathered at her front to reveal the white, stone-like, ground below. Then, they compressed before her as a figure took shape.

A tuxedo of white shined below short, combed, hair of gold. A gleaming smile showed a full set of perfect teeth. A pale face, as pale as hers, came to view and she had to arc her head up to stare at the male.

"I am God," He proclaimed as his azure eyes stared into her crimson.

"I see," She simply replied with not a change to her expression.

". . ."

". . ."

"Are you not surprised?" He tilted his head.

"No."

Claire shook her own. Meeting a God? This was, honestly, a tried and tested plot. She supposed there was no need to fix what wasn't broken, however.

"Don't you wonder why I am not an old man? Your world is fond of that theory, is it not?" He took a step back and doubtfully looked her over.

"A bit, I suppose. Though, I wouldn't mind if you decided not to speak."

Why was she to wonder if God was old or not? More importantly, she wished he would simply get to the reason she found herself in this strange and surreal atmosphere, though she already had her suspicions.

She didn't die, that was a fact. She had simply appeared here after a blinding light crossed her path on the way back home from school. Her book bag had been dropped in rushed shock but, other than that, she was still in her highschool uniform: A black shirt and a skirt of the same color (which was a bit on the longer end), finished off with a red necktie.

She stood, unfazed by the encounter, yet this god-person didn't seem too keen on telling her why she was here.

"You see!" He spun around, placed his hands behind him, and began to pace around as his shoes clinked against the marble-like ground.

"I am a being that is unaging, unending, omniscient, omnipresent, and all-powerful. Now, tell me, why would I choose to project myself as an old man of all things?" He spun right back.

"Why am I here?" Claire simply disregarded him and asked back. "If you have nothing better to do than spout rubbish, could you send me on my way?"

He coughed.

"Well I have noticed, you don't seem to 'fit in'," The 'handsome' god stated a bit awkwardly and tried to shrug her comments off.

Claire narrowed her eyes slightly. "I fit in perfectly."

"Oh? Why did you get the nickname 'Ice Queen' attached to you then?" He asked back.

She shrugged.

"I like drinking juice with lots of ice," She replied seriously and, looking, there didn't seem to be a shred of a lie nor shame upon her face.

Clearly, she had quite the thick skin. The man before her was speechless.

"Really? Tell me, how many friends do you have?" He crossed his arms at his chest.

". . ."

"How many people are willing to talk to you?" He looked down at her figure.

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". . ."

"How many are not scared off due to your aura alone?"

". . ."

"Tell me, my Ice Queen, why have you failed to fit in?"

". . .you're speaking needlessly."

"And you're quite loose in the head."

"I'd prefer if you didn't term me that."

"What a feisty lass, but I suppose that has its own cuteness and charm to it."

She narrowed her crimson eyes. "You know, you don't sound nor seem like a 'God'?"

"Indeed, I am not Go—." The so-called god nodded before halting to a stop as realization dawned on him.

However, Claire refused to give him a chance as she stared him down. "Who are you? Are you one of his servants?"

"Servant!?" He seemed enraged at that claim, then calmed himself down. "How can I, an archangel, be called as a mere servant?"

"Oh, an archangel?" Claire nodded, calmly. "Would you be Gabriel then?"

"You dare claim me as that second in command, Gabriel!?" He seemed to almost explode with rage.

"Listen well, Ice Queen!" He proclaimed as his head raised with some bit of pride.

"..."

"I am the first seat of the archangels, God's right hand, Michael!" He puffed out his chest with pride.

"..."

Claire could no longer stand this man. Why should she care what seat he held? Was she so tired of standing that she needed to steal his prized buttocks warmers?

"Why am I here?" She asked as her crimson eyes drilled into his azure. "I would very much like it if you were to proceed to the point."

"You. . ."

It was now Micheal's turn to be speechless at this girl's disregard of his heavenly figure. Furthermore, those eyes of hers. . .he fixed his tie.

"Fine," He said as he tucked at the corner of his clothing and Claire finally noticed the pair of white gloves that covered his hands.

"Though I am more suited for the fighting and commanding role, God has tasked me to send you to a more suitable world for your type of aura," He proclaimed.

"I don't want to. Could you please send me back to earth?"

". . ."

Was this girl sane?

Clearly, Micheal was seeing for himself why she had earned the nickname she did. It wasn't just due to her aura, but clearly more so her personality. Was she naive? Or did she simply wish to not engage in anything that would disturb the motions of her life?

Looking at those icy, ruby eyes of hers, he thought this girl was quite strange indeed. But strange, might just be perfect.

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