The angel

The angel was beautiful and graceful, but sad all the same. She was depicted in flight, but her hands clasped shut before her bare chest and the feathers of her grandiose wings molted and fell away. Her eyes were closed and a single tear glimmered in the sunlight high above her. You noticed, as you looked over the painting, that there were hands reaching from the edge of the very bottom. No... not hands. Claws. Dark black and red demon claws, scratching at her perfect pale ankles. There was more to this painting...

The hallway continued off to the right and, oddly enough, was protected by a slow waterfall of turquois-blue mist, like a barrier of energy that blocked your way. To the right of the mist was a white door without a lock.