The first thing the girl saw was the white ceiling of the room, crossed by shining brass pipes. A dull pain spread through her skull, and every sound seemed louder, even the quiet rumbling of the room’s boiler felt like the harbinger of an earthquake. She was laying on a gurney, the cold metal sending shivers up her spine as the numbness on her body faded. She sat up, ignoring the pain on her muscles.
She was alone in the room, itself a perfect example of the Seraphs’ “clinics”: the sterile white walls a stark contrast with the darker tubes and engines, gearboxes encased in glass cages thick enough to hold back a Steam Giant’s punch, a shining-new boiler resting in the corner, warming the entire room, gurneys like the girl’s organized in two lines and a tall double door, its glass pattern revealing the dark corridor ahead.
After the pain had subsided, the girl felt a light pressure on her head, and ran her fingers through her cropped hair, unt