What happened in France {Short Story}

She woke up groggily because of the sound of an alarm. She managed to grab it and throw it to the wall before she raised herself slightly of the bed. She grasped for her glasses but she found nothing as she opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep with glasses on. She yawned and dressed herself in a lime green, silk robe. She tied it closed as she wandered to her closet. She had found an apartment in the center of Marseille. It was small, but she could manage. She hoped. The bed was a canopy bed. The carpet in the bedroom was a vale blue, where the laminate was a cherry wood in the living-room and kitchen, and the tiles in the bathroom were white. She opened her closet and took a clean uniform. She dressed herself and decided on which glasses, since the old ones were stained and slightly crushed. She decided to go for her original glasses she'd received at the end of her exam; oval-shaped and lime green. She yawned again as she made some cereal for herself. She finished her breakfast and stretched her body before walking out the door, towards the portal to the Library of France. She sat down at her new desk and took a cup of coffee. The other co-workers glared at her as she stared defiantly at them.
"Got a problem?" she said in fluent French. One of them murmured something about 'stupid Brit' and she rose to her feet, quick as a cobra, to grab him in his collar.
"Seriously? You insult me for where I came from, Ire?" she spat as she dropped him.

Days passed, and things started to get out of control as Chelsea reacted more violently after each insult. They were pestering here, and she would fight back. When she had decided to go to France, she decided to go to Marseille, because she never had been there and hoped that no memories would come to haunt her. But the country itself was enough to drive her crazy. And that was not the only problem; the most Reapers were older than her, and held a grudge against everything English. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned a file, of somebody she was supposed to reap. She remembered her exam scores; triple a for the practical technique, written a c and ethics a double a. Average; a+. She had been so proud that she managed to get a c for written (she'd asked Will for help. He was her sav- no c, don't go thinking about England. Bad girl.) that she had- not again. She sighed as she rose to her feet and grabbed her coat to go out and drink some. Her work for today was done, and she was glad to let those French guys behind.She first hurried to her small apartment and she redressed herself in a silk singlet with black skinnies and some purple sneakers. It was on her way to the bar that she felt she was followed, but it was too late already....

She heard some footsteps, and she frowned. She quickened her pace, and she heard those footsteps faltering for one moment. Her sixth sense, the one all the immortal beings seemed to possessed, betrayed the presence of danger to her, a split second later she heard the sound of a sabre whipping through the air. She unscathed her death scythe and parried. The blade of the sabre was too close to her fingers for comfort, and she quickly pulled back to parry again, leading these steps into a deathly dance with a familiar face. She leapt up the building, easily followed by the angel that was dressed in golden and silver robes. He did a graceful screw as he followed her, flapping his wings one single time.
"Anuriel" she hissed as she made a backflip and faced him. Her heels connected when she stood straight, her death scythe in front of her, between her feet. She was glad for her long coat -it would give a dramatic effect that might spice her appearance up.
"Well, we meet again, miss L" he said with a slight bow. She narrowed her eyes but didn't move yet.
"To my dismay. Using fancy, modern words will not help your case." He laughed shortly, and it was as if thousand bells were ringing. She spat on the ground, disgusted with him.
"What a pleasure to meet you again, miss L" he told her. "To meet you alone in a city where you are without any form of allies."
"Call me one more 'miss L' and I will kill you slowly" she said, trying to veil her nervousness. Point was; Anuriel was right; she had no friends here, nobody to flee too. She was pretty sure that if she went to some colleague, they would close the door and watch her die through the window.
"Unsure where you stand? I would be too, if my colleagues would hand me out to a foe" he told her as he closed in. She bit her lip and gripped her scythe just a bit tighter. Anuriel noticed it, and he laughed. His short gold hair whipped in the light breeze to the Marseillian night as he closed his silver eyes in a brief moment of amusement, slightly tilting his head, showing of his porcelain neck. She went in for the kill, especially as he had planned; the sound of her feet slapping the concrete roof was short lived as she quickly leapt at him in a single bounce, his scythe raised to kill. He grabbed her wrists and swung her past him, dumping her on the ground. Her head hit the concrete roof and she swore she could hear her skull crack as she blacked out in merciful oblivion...

She groaned as she woke up. She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. Suddenly, she could see again as her glasses were placed upon her nose. She tilted her head back, letting them glide back. She frowned; her hands were tied in front of her body, while she sat in a corner. She glared, finding the object she wanted him death.
"Anuriel" she spat.
"Hi miss L" he said with a wave of his hand. He reminded her of Charlie - it made her a little sick.
"What do you want for me?" she screamed in his face. He smiled calmly. "You won't try to kill me, because you'd done if you wanted to." She knew these kind of situations, how to deal with them. She had watched enough series.
"Correct" he said cheerfully. "Look girl, I know you hate Paris. I hate Paris too, 'cause it doomed my lil' sis."
"Angela Ash."
"Correct again, miss L. I love it how you are so smart. But hush now, let me talk. Those guys of the Marseille Branch handed you out to me, dearie. Don't look so worried, won't hurt cha. Yet. But I want the Paris Branch burned, and Paris cleansed. I hope you'll help me, love. Together, we can conquer the world. I can love you, I can adore you, I can worship you like the demon can't." She shivered as she tried to struggle free.

She shot up, almost jumped out of her bed. She looked around, but she was just in her room. She shrieked as she felt her head; a bump. She shivered and quickly penned two letters down. A demand for retransfer, and a letter to her old friends. She packed her bags and locked the door. She looked around before hurrying out of the building, to the station, to Paris, to the airport, to England where she hoped she would be safe.

A FEW NIGHTS LATER
"Did something happen?" Chelsea looked up from behind her easiest pair of glasses. She had draped herself over her most favorite chaise lounge, watching the reruns of a few series she liked. Dressed in comfortable clothes -a wide tee she'd stolen from Charlie, and wide trousers- she seemed tired.
"Sod off." Charlie narrowed his eyes but obliged. If something had happened, as he sensed, she wouild talk, right...