The falling sun cast its fading rays to the darkening sky, its dying breath interwoven into the coiled tresses attached to a young Menewshan's head. She was an odd little thing, poorly dressed to be standing alongside the many snowflakes combined to chill her bare feet. But she did not despair, casting her odd, hesitant smile upon the guiding light of candles standing proudly at windows. She was not content nor displeased. Apathetic? Almost. But then why the shy, knowing smile?

"Beautiful," a deep voice murmurs, as a festive group of carolers pass. "Almost worth it be here for the Holiday Season, don't you think, Dys?." Where had it come from?

"The weather is crap," the ever-pessimistic Dystopia retorts, her smile fading instantly. She preferred not to sugarcoat. "At least you don't feel cold!" Was she talking to the instrument she held in her hand?

She tries to rub her vulnerable belly, only to realize that the cold had traveled from her bare shoulders to her palms. Stiffening, Dystopia slowly takes a breath and counts to ten. Her breath writhes midair as if in agony, curling into wisps that almost resembled the twists of her icy blue hair. If this assignment wasn't so important, she would've lost her temper long ago.

"Now, now." It was the deeper voice again. "Let's not be feisty."

It was the harp Dys held that spoke to her, a harp curved into the shape of a crescent moon. It was a masterpiece of metal, its- His?- surface decorated with soft curls. The etchings were so delicate, as were the serene features carved into the enchanted gold. Even the winter hued gems adorning its top were so perfectly polished.

But it was not the face that changed with speech, but the blue strings. The voice was perfect, musical. Hearing it speak was hearing a musical, the note distorted only when the outermost string collided with the star dangling from its upper tip. And as this was not normal behavior for an instrument, the lack of people in the streets at this time was a stroke of luck. But obviously, Dystopia was not impressed.

"WHY I OUGHTA-"

"Tsk tsk! Keep your temper better, girl, you're supposed to be an angel!"

Dys turns about indignantly, using her hand to bop her crooked halo back into place. Unlike the traditional circle that most people depicted a Halo in, this one was shaped like a golden daffodil in its prime. It lit the young female in a holy aura of golden light, causing her entire body to be set ashine with stars. It was true. She was supposed to be an angel, and everyone else in her age group had earned their wings. And here she was, still trying to prove her worth.

Suddenly, the navy gem on her bracelet began to shine and emit a series of beeps. Dys groans and somehow dislodges the coil of gold from her forearm and jabs at the tiny gem. When she saw the name of her caller, she had to groan again. Ignoring the neat script imprinting the name of her supervisor on the blue surface, Dystopia continued on her way. This was not the best time in the world for her ever darling boss to be yelling at her.

One thing. She had to do one thing. All she had to do was recover a certain PEZ dispenser before its secrets were unlocked. Yes, a PEZ dispenser. It was an innocent enough thing, the cartoon character heading the blue plastic happening to be none other than an angel. But it wasn't just that. When opened, it contained the oceanic beads used by angels as communication. It had been disguised to be safely carried through human world and transport elsewhere.

Dystopia scurried into the bakery, breaking off from her troubling memories long enough to accept a cookie offered to her by a generous shopkeeper. After thanking the woman, she sulks about in a corner, to much disapproval from the Harp. The baker shook her head. People these days would do anything to look stylish, even freeze their toes off. Since when was frostbite and beeping jewelery a fashion anyways?

After warming up enough to feel her toes, Dys ventures outside, bracing herself for the cold air. She meets cold air, then cold snow. She had crashed into a small child who had been entering the bakery. A set of curious blue eyes glance at her, seeming to hold no grudge from the incident. After helping the youngster up, she begins to apologize.

"No problem, lady," the young boy replies. He reaches into his pocket. "Do you like candy?"

"Uh... Not really."

"Your loss," he replies, popping a piece from... THE PEZ dispenser.

"On second tho-"

***

Several days later, Dystopia returned home with the PEZ dispenser.

She had worked a deal with the kid. If she paid the teeth that the bead had broken, the PEZ dispenser would be returned. She, of course, accepted. And now she waited for her boss to praise her at last. Although she wasn't sure if being near purple was a good sign.

"DYSTOPIA! THAT WAS HALF MY SALARY YOU SPENT, RIGHT THERE!"

... Oops.