ㅤthe thing about the angelic demi-god was that he could be just about anywhere but also nowhere at the same time. normally, usually, he appears without a notice - at least for those unfamiliar to him ( those who were familiar have come to notice the gentle chimes of his entrance ). it is simply a known feat of his to be CAREFUL as to not stir the very air around them, if he can help it.
ㅤit is ethereal in nature, his comings and goings; rather masterfully mysterious all in the same. it is not to scare another. ( oh! anything but that! ) never and quite rarely does it seem to happen in any means to terrify or to intimidate. as if he was a thing unnoticed prior and then so very suddenly noticed: a forgotten thing now remembered.
ㅤbut never mind the question of entrances. neither grand nor ordinary - peculiar, perhaps. but, who cares? ( not him, it seems. ) to the immortal, it was just another day - just another moment. remauriel seemed to continue and CARRY the conversation that was started by the other. as if that was far more important than anything else.
ㅤㅤ"is it?" the question was both genuine but also almost prying.
was it? was it a wonderful day? what made any sort of day wonderful? how was the term 'wonderful' even measured? and how could it have possibly be wholly determined by a singular definition?
ㅤwas it wonderful because the other believed it to be? ( like truly thought it to be 'wonderful' ? ) or was it a day that MOST would agree with it to being a wonderful day.
ㅤof course, all of this musing had never been audibly spoken, though just a single look at the angel could have anybody knowing those thoughts. even a child could see it on him. his plain and SIMPLE question held so much to them. he was an open book - and anybody could know his musings. he cared not to hide a single part of it.
but that was the thing. he cared NOT to HIDE a SINGLE part of it.
ㅤhis inquiry held far more weight than just asking if it really was a wonderful day.
ㅤㅤㅤ'do you really believe it to be a wonderful day, or are you holding a small conversation to help with the masquerade of hiding how you really feel?'
doublespeak.
ㅤㅤof course, remauriel spoke not a single word outside from his initial response. but he did not need to. while, true, he had the gift of hindsight, one did not need to look very deep to know that the 'elder' gentleman beside him on the bench currently held a rather troubled life.
one. he was alone. in what seemingly looked like a park. where was his companion? two. the notebook. though valid in closing it when a stranger approaches - that could be personal and most likely private thoughts and information. but the reaction is something that seemed to have almost have been that of one hiding an obsession.
ㅤnow, the angel is not - will never be - one of harsh judgements or presumptions. though he is still one who does, genuinely try to have meaningful conversations with others. often gives others the chance to look inward ( if only slightly ), and yet, not once, does he ever seem to make them do or say anything. and if it seems to be discomforting for anybody, he does not press. for he would rather allow them space to go at their own pace.
ㅤthough it is absolutely clear here what he is doing. he is giving the man a choice to answer however he wishes to answer, but the question itself is far more open ended that it really seems.
ㅤwhen remauriel asked, it absolutely was an euphemism or sorts - and he was not hiding it. but it also did not need to be. though it seemed as though he would speak up again, out of consideration for the other.
ㅤㅤ"do you really believe it to be? couldn't it be better?"
One life wasn't enough to prepare a soul for the kinds of people it would meet during its lifespan. A single blade of grass didn't create a meadow. It was always surrounded by its kind, by other grass, by weeds, by flowers. If Malcolm was a pampas grass, then the one before him was as colorful as a camellia. Unexpected, off-putting with his presence, disarming with his question. Yet, the way the eyes spoke more than words ever could cloaked the stranger with an aura of someone one crosses once in a lifetime.
He had read it plenty of times in fiction — of encounters that changed one's trajectory and worldview. Instances where souls and minds clash in their dichotomy — opposed but candor, from start to the end; idiosyncratic. Malcolm was never a fan of such encounters, even in fiction. He disliked the mere idea of one's world being turned upside down due to a gap in experiences. He disliked people with a profound understanding of things written in books; those who read a passage and understood it intimately, regardless if they've experienced it or not. Most of all, he disliked those with a predilection for soulful questions. Those who wanted to peek inside a mirror and unearth that which was buried. People whose words sounded mellifluous like honeyed nectar in ancient times, but were more often than not as nefarious as a cup of poison.
Those types of people he felt the most comfortable around.
Those types he trusted the least.
Lips pulled into an amiable smile, but its sweetness wasn't reflected in the eyes that peered into the other's.
As inquisitive and childlike as the question may have sounded, something in his heart demanded caution. The more pleasant his mere company felt, the more alarms sounded off in Malcolm's head.
He didn't like it. Didn't like the luminous glow of the other's soul. It had burnt him before. It was a treacherous path with calamity at the end of the road.
After all, wasn't Lucifer the brightest of all angels? Wasn't he known as the deceiver and the devil? Even if his faith had long dissipated, he still held onto some of the lessons. The brightest of them all was the most humane, and that which was humane was innately both vile and kind.
“ Does everything need to be so deep and serious? ” Does it need meaning? Does subjectivity need to be included when answering such a question? Can it not be a wonderful day simply because for the majority it is a normal, uneventful day?
Facial features indicated someone youthful, at least at first glance. Perhaps it was arrogant to create a profile on a stranger so early with barely any thoughts shared, but old habits die hard. If the youthful man before him was a student, it would make sense why such curiosity existed. Possibly someone studying philosophy, or anything related to it. Or, perhaps, someone deeply enamoured with it, and with a lack of filter to keep those questions at bay.
Should curiosity be kept at bay? Put on a leash and controlled at all times? Should it be encouraged? To which degree then? Should it run free?
Where is order in such a world? Where are its rules?
For the sake of entertaining a stranger, and possibly questions in the future (should his curiosity be piqued), Malcolm closed the notebook in his hands, keeping the secrets written down away from prying eyes.
“ Do you study philosophy by any chance? It isn't common for me to have my thoughts dissected in such a way, so excuse my lack of wit when answering your question. ”
As accusatory as the words may have sounded, there was a genuine unease as they were uttered. Normally he would've claimed it was a part of acting he had picked up with the job. Realistically, he was deeply aware of how disquieting it felt to be transparent to another being.
How vulnerable.










