Summary: An angel of Death makes an utter mess of things. (Enjoy)

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I closed the door with a sigh.

A hard habit to break, breathing.

Angels don't need to do it, see - though we have everything we need to do it with.

I still haven't learned how not to, though. Lucius always jokes that I'm still a "fresh" one, and that I'll eventually forget.

I smiled wryly to myself, and turned to face the corridor.

I tugged my shawl, settled it more comfortably around my shoulders, took another habitual breath, and sighed it out again.

Old habits die hard.

Like living.

I glanced once more at the unremarkable...