At first, the angel students trusted Golka with all their hearts. How could they not? She was a vision of beauty — her silver hair glinting like moonlight, her delicate wings folded neatly, her smile warm and soothing. Every movement was graceful, every word gentle. To the young angels, she was the embodiment of kindness itself.
Her presence was calming, as if the very air around her had softened. The classrooms felt brighter when she entered, the hallways quieter. Students who had once been timid began to approach her, seeking advice, comfort, or simply someone to listen. She allowed them to confide in her freely, nodding in understanding, offering words of reassurance. A soft touch to straighten a sleeve, a careful glance to show she noticed their struggles — small gestures that made her appear infinitely trustworthy.
"She listens," whispered one young angel to another, awe in their voice. "She really understands us."
And she did… in her own way. Every whisper, every secret shared was a piece of intelligence Golka collected. Names, habits, fears, small grudges — all cataloged meticulously in her mind. She memorized the students' routines, the subtle expressions that betrayed their emotions, even the slight tremor in a wing when they were nervous. Every tiny detail could later become a thread in the web she was weaving.
Slowly, the students began to reveal more than they intended. They complained about strict rules, vented frustrations about sector heads, and shared petty quarrels between friends. One would sigh about being misunderstood; another would mutter about a peer deliberately ruining their day. And Golka listened. She nodded, comforted, and pretended to be on their side, while inwardly calculating how each piece of information could serve her.
Because the truth was, she was not merely a listener — she was the architect of some of the very tensions she soothed. A careful word here, a subtle suggestion there, a look that planted doubt — and the seeds of discord took root. No one suspected that the kind smile and soft voice belonged to a serpent.
As the days passed, her observations grew bolder. Her gaze, once soft and reassuring, began to sharpen. Her questions, while still appearing gentle, were pointed and precise. She began noting every slip, every careless gesture, and every secret murmured behind closed doors. And every discovery was reported to Angurich, the elder of Heaven, as though she were merely a dutiful angel. The students thought they had found a friend. They did not realize they had stepped straight into the web of a spy.
But Golka's ambitions extended beyond the students. She studied the sixteen sector heads, noting routines, weaknesses, and subtle flaws. Every detail, every habitual gesture, every minor lapse — nothing escaped her attention. Like a master painter observing a canvas, she understood the patterns of behavior and the invisible threads connecting one angel to another.
Her first strike was calculated and merciless. A sector head, respected for years, was suddenly disgraced. The scandal seemed to erupt out of nowhere, a ripple of chaos that sent shockwaves through Heaven. The reason for the disgrace? A secret only Golka had known, carefully timed to reach the ears of Angurich. To the onlookers, it appeared as a natural consequence of hidden mistakes, but in reality, it was a trap laid with precision.
And as the sector head fell, Golka stepped into the role of temporary head of the North. Not with arrogance, but with careful humility, showing herself as capable, trustworthy, and deserving. To the unsuspecting angels, it was a natural transition — she was the one to fill the gap, the one who could steady the sector. But anyone paying attention could see the subtle hints of her orchestration. This was no accident. It was the first step in a game far greater than anyone realized.
Even in moments of calm, Golka remained vigilant. She walked the halls during quiet hours, observing interactions, noting alliances and tensions, understanding the flow of influence and power among the angels. She smiled gently at students, nodded encouragingly to colleagues, all while her mind raced with plans, contingencies, and strategies. Every interaction, no matter how small, was an opportunity to gather information, to manipulate, to strengthen her position.
The web she was weaving extended far beyond the North. Every smile she offered, every comforting word, every whisper of encouragement to the students or subtle guidance to the staff, all were threads connecting her influence across the sector. And as the day ended, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the moonlight spilled across the courtyard, Golka allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
The angel who appeared so gentle, so kind, so innocent, was far more than she seemed. By the time anyone in Heaven realized the truth, it would already be too late.
And Golka, the fox in the henhouse, smiled once more, ready to continue her game of whispers and webs of power.