Charlotte Curie was, to all effect, average. She wasn't anything remarkably beautiful, nor was she a sin upon the eyes. She was average. Plain Jane. Dull, as she would put it. She had chocolate brown eyes, and long, mousy brown hair that she had taken to wearing in twin braids that fell down her back. Kept it out the way, she found. She had a long, thin nose that lay slightly crooked on her face after a game of rounders several years earlier that had ended inordinately painfully. Lottie's lips were narrow and created the illusion that she was more-or-less constantly grumpy – though, in all fairness, she was more-or-less constantly grumpy. She cut a tall, gangly figure, but her slim body was hardly complimented by a wardrobe that seemed to consist solely of jeans and baggy hoodies.

Much like it's owner, Lottie's bedroom was long, narrow and orderly – except for her bed, which was a constant mess that she had never quite gotten the hang of making properly. Her green wall paint was chipped and broken in some places, allowing patches of brown to show through from underneath. Lottie gained a bizzare gratification from peeling at her already flaking wall paint, although it quite destroyed the spectacle of her room. Said walls hosted a menagerie of water-colour paintings of ornate teapots that Lottie's mother had been collecting faithfully for her daughter over the past decade or so. Lottie detested them with all of her being.

Friend request accepted, she decided it was high time to get down to the bottom of who had requested it in the first place. And so, hitting the 'Comment' button on the mystery man's page, she typed a brief message of inquiry, her fingers expertly gliding across the keys. So expertly indeed that it lead to prove further still that the poor girl really needed to get out more.

'Hi, thanks for adding me as a friend! :)'

Best to be polite, Lottie reasoned, in case the guy was the kind of person who'd find her and appear in her room in the middle of the night. She continued;

'At the risk of sounding all kinds of rude, can I ask who you are?'

"I'm Samson. It says so on the page."

"Huh?"

A manicured fingernail indicated to the 'NAME: Samson L' displayed on the screen.

"See? Right there."

"Huh...."

Within seconds, Lottie had scrambled to her feet and was backing towards the window. She screeched;

"Who the fuck are you and how did you get into my room?!"

"I told you- I'm Samson. Samson Lior."

"MUM!"

Oh fuck, she was out shopping. And Teal was at her karate club. Why do axe-wielding murderers always have to break into your house when you're alone?!

Lottie did what anyone should do when a strange man appears in your bedroom. She grabbed the computer chair and smacked him with it.

The newcomer, taken by surprise, was knocked forcefully into Lottie's bed.

Winded, but unharmed, he hurried to justify himself,

"Charlotte, let me explain---"

"Freak! Pervert! I'll call the police!"

She hit him with the chair again. Instinctively, the man protected his face with his arm.

"Charlotte! Calm down!"

Smack!

"Stop that!"

The chair seemed to wrestle itself from Lottie's grasp, rose and hovered in the air out of her reach. She stared in disbelief for a few seconds, then swung around and tried to lift her archaic brick of a computer monitor. The stranger was quickly up and gripping her by the shoulders whilst her back was turned.

"Charlotte. Cease."

Lottie shook her arms, trying to free herself. Though his hands had appeared delicate, they were strong. She spoke again. What came out from her mouth was little more than a pitiful squeak.

"Don't kill me. Please don't kill me,"

He released her-

"I'm not going to kill you, Charlotte. Angels don't kill."

Angels? What the hell did that mean? She tilted her head to look at him and gaped. It was definitely the man in the picture – blonde hair, peculiar eyes in that one was blue, one green. But what was most remarkable – and what had caught Lottie's attention - was the white feathered wings that blossomed from his back. It wasn't that she hadn't noticed them before – she simply hadn't fully registered them in all the excitement. To prove their authenticity, the man willed them to beat twice. Lottie continued to stare for quite some time. Finally, her gaze tilted to the chair, still floating above them.

"I- I didn't know angels could make things float,"

"Not all angels. That would be my niche, so to speak."

"I see. Can I have my chair back, please?"

"Oh, right, of course. Yes," he beckoned to the hovering furniture, and it sank neatly to the ground. Lottie's legs gave, and she collapsed upon it,

"Who... Who are you?"

"Samson Lior," the angel repeated for a third and final time. He gracefully seated himself on the bed.

Lottie glanced back at the screen, as if to confirm the statement. She took several deep breaths, steadying her rapid heartbeat,

"How are you in my room?"

"Magic,"

"Okay. Why are you in my room?"

"Well you see, Charlotte-"

"Lottie,"

"-My apologies. Lottie. Elliot got into my account and sent the friend request. A bit of a joke on his part. Needless to say, it wasn't funny,"

She frowned, "Don't angels have better things to do than waste time on computers?"

Samson flapped his wings, obviously miffed by the remark,

"The thing about Limbo is – it's run by angels,"

"What?"

"Well think about it. The prospect of letting out one's emotions through the written word, sharing one's life and making friends in a large global community – it's like a heaven on earth for you mortals,"

"A couple of days ago some girl in France stabbed some other girl over a nasty comment on their Limblog. Said so on the news."

Another indignant flutter of feathers,

"Hmph, well Limbo and Heaven aren't the same thing, are they? Really, for a girl who's just been given living – well, not living – but proof of the existence of angels, you're finding a lot of time to be a complete muckraker. Besides, it's the thought that counts, and it wasn't my idea anyway,"

Lottie had no trouble sensing that Samson was getting more than a little defensive, so she deemed it best to change the subject,

"So, uhm, Elliot hacked your Limbo account,"

"Yes. A bit of a practical joker, that boy. You'd think a hundred years would be enough time to grow up, but--"

"I don't really understand why you're here, though,"

"I came to apologise for Elliot's tomfoolery. My apologies, dear." He rose and bowed curtly.

"Well... apology accepted. But if that was the case, why couldn't you have said sorry through a Limbo comment and saved all this, uhm, distress?"

Flap. Apparently Samson hadn't thought of that,

"...Apologies mean more in person."

"Yes, I suppose," Not in this case though.

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Well then, I suppose I'd best be off. It'd be better if you weren't to tell anyone about this,"

A rare smile graced Lottie's lips. Samson was proving to be a bit of an idiot, but she found it somehow charming,

"I don't really think they'd believe me anyway,"

"No, uhm, well, of course not,"

Though he showed no signs of heading for the door, Lottie hurried in another question,

"But why me?"

Samson went a little red – a surprise in itself, as one would suspect that blushing were not something angels were capable of,

"That doesn't really matter,"

"It does to me," Shanna hadn't been at school due to a flu, and this was the first active socialising that Lottie had been granted all day. She wasn't going to let it end yet.

"Well, Elliot feels kind of sorry for you,"

"Huh?"

"Anyone who takes the time to use our website daily really isn't living their life," Samson went redder still,

Oh. This guy could piss off after all then. Dick.

"His words, not mine,"

"Right,"

"Well..." He hesitated, in case Lottie had any further queries. She didn't, so he continued,

"Farewell then,"

"Yeah, uh, bye."

And as unexpectedly as he has appeared, Samson was gone, having disappeared into nothingness.

Truly bewildered by the whole event, and entirely unsure what to make of it, Lottie turned her chair back to the computer.

A pop-up flashed onto the screen.