She stomped her foot in frustration. What was the point of having wings if they were nothing more than decoration? Her heart felt as heavy as it did the day she arrived in...well, she wasn’t sure where she was. It wasn’t Hell, but it certainly wasn’t Heaven, either. Surely, in Heaven she would have more than a measly pair of flip-flops. She bent forward to eye her uncovered, pudgy toes, still painted the seafoam green she’d painted them her last day as a living, breathing person. If she’d known it was the last color her toes would ever see, she’d have chosen better – cherry red, passion pink – anything but seafoam. “Purgatory,” a chipper voice said from behind her. Tessa spun around to find the voice’s owner, but she was alone. “Excuse me?” Had she imagined it? Answered her own question, perhaps? In a grating, high-pitched, yet masculine voice? Not likely. For days on this stupid cloud, she’d seen no one and the only voice in her head was her own.
