Marilyn tripped out of the elevator, drunk. She fumbled in her pocket to find her room key as she walked to the end of the hall and pressed herself against the hotel door, and after what felt like a spinning eternity, found it. When she shoved it violently into the card slot and slapped the handle downward, the door gave way beneath her weight, causing her to stumble awkwardly into her room. She expected to be welcomed by consuming darkness as the door slowly closed behind her, but as the lock slid into place with a deafening click, she noticed that her quarters remained lit by a faint light, its source residing out of view on the other side of the room. The hair on the back of her neck rose and her muscles coiled as she padded to the end of the small hallway, trying to sense an intruder through her stupor. After a moment she could feel a slow energy emanating from where the light was being cast, yet there was no trace of living blood or the sound of a beating heart to be detected. Growing frustrated, she turned the corner with teeth bared.

She intended to approach and make a fast kill, but what she saw when she stepped into view made her freeze. At the foot of her bed sat a young man who seemed to be just entering the age of twenty. He wore only a shimmering silver cloth that wrapped loosely about his slender body, the ends of it hanging suspended in the air about him as though held up by invisible threads. His skin was the purest shimmering white, or so Marilyn thought until she realized that it was the glow that was dispersed from his body that caused him to appear that way, and was also what was bathing the room in soft light. He was completely bald with a pair of aviator goggles perched just above his forehead, their black lenses winking in the light. The cloth about him shifted gently in the air as he slowly looked up from the floor, his expression being one of an intoxicated lover. He had full, beautiful lips that sat half-parted as he met Marilyn with a pair of sapphires beneath heavy lids, long black lashes framing them. His mouth closed, then curled into a small grin before he said lazily, “I've been waiting for you.”

His voice caused Marilyn to shiver as it slid over her mind. It was a smooth tenor tone with a hint of warmth, and it seemed to coming from all directions as though the room spoke and echoed with him. She shook it off, bristling.

“Who the fuck are you?”

She watched warily as the man stood from the bed, his feet never touching the floor. He levitated, the cloth shifting with him like a living thing, continuously concealing his extremities as he moved. He then placed a hand over his chest, smiling.

“Me? I'm an angel.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Here we have the introduction of one of my favorite characters in the book I am attempting to write: Judas.
He happens to be one of the most intriguing characters of "The Waverly" because, as Marilyn's insanity progresses, his role and character become more and more questionable.
There are events and things that are discussed between Judas and Marilyn that can lead one to question whether he is simply a figment of Marilyn's impending mental decay, or if he truly exists. The question is also raised as to why he is there, whether it is to try and be a guide for Marilyn to make her way to her demise as peacefully as possible, to serve as a defense mechanism in her own mind to have a "friend" to share her fears with, or if he appears in order to speed the process and provoke her into chaos. Hence his name: The Angel, Judas.
He is a walking, or floating contradiction.