ย ย ย ย ย ย ย โIt is unwise for me to be even in reach of you. I should not let my kindness compel me so to indulge even monsters, but so is the kindness I was given. So is the kindness I was born to giveโฆโ Full of fire and forgiveness and pityโShamsiel has always been kind to a fault, even when he is made to kill. He still grieves the lives he has ended, and he grieves the ones he could not save. This one is a fine example of his empty prayers, where no light of his could touch what was long dead. This is no man he truly knows. He is some dark, foreign creation that stings the cherubโs heart even now with dread. And with sadness. Of course, with sadness. His hand has paused on the primaries of that same wing, tentative and unwavering under all that sunlit colour.ย โDo you still intend to drive my children from their purpose? Even now? I would pray that is not what you are here to tell me.โ He can barely stand what smoulder that same presence brings even now, without the unwanted call for violence that may well hang in some even more unwanted future. His hands ache from the fire they wield merely at the thought. Watchful, uncertain; he eyes that flash of gold as it floats upward, and the distance between them shrinks to an almost painful degree.ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย โI think it a worthy sacrifice if I might touch any heart with such, dead and scarred or otherwise. But perhaps there are hearts beyond touching. I should know I cannot undo what evil is already done, but I cannot help hoping.โ Humble, coming from the mouth of a prince, anyway. Though Shamsiel has never been anything but. That token of peace twirling in their suffocating proximity is delicately taken back inโsorrow? Dejection?โas the angel inches himself out and away from where he kneels.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย โI am often wounded by that hope, but hope yet I doโ He steps cautiously aside and breathes deep to quell the ache in his chest. His words echo quietly into the light that pans over that vanishing vision of wings behind him, dispersing like dust swept by the breeze until the sight of them is rendered all but imaginary again.ย โThough I doubt my foolishness means much to the fallen.โ
ย ย ย ย ย A drop, comparing itself to galaxyโs vast worth, finding itself by far more robust and full-colored and whole than the void of he himself. This... equanimity Itself feels like a form of era passing while his brother sits in close company, allots him drinking where the vacuum of him hungers for more. Ayperos, more silent than the nothing of Sagittarius remains idle still, and ponders. Listens. Echos the words of the Cherub throughout himself, filling him to a form of completeness. And while this does not last, while he takes for himself the warmth left behind from where the Prince knelt, the purity and grace and magnificent left, all to at once devour and leave himself empty again. So he stands, the foretaste of wholeness the causation for his bodyโs shift: the change in show for himself the many feathered wings aligning his back. The darkness of them, consuming the light of sun and hope all their own.ย
ย ย ย ย ย ย Ayperos to finally break the loitering silence.
ย ย ย ย ย ย โThe mortals you covet are bound for grace; sans, perhaps, the youngest there with so much uncertainty. He loves with a battered love, and an even more battered faith. How many righteous men have you seen serve, only to denounce themselves with their own tongue? No, Shamsiel - I lead nothing astray, as I was not created to lie, and thus I cannot tell lies. I speak only truths, and of him, I know the truth is that his heart is darker than he desires it to be. You may well lose him, though youโve already gained his partner through crucibles.โย
ย ย ย ย ย ย Another. And another. It is the seventh pair which do not themselves blossom fully, as they cease halfway the length of every other winged pairs. Broken in half, festered, just as the day he had been thrown.ย โI meant... not him, however; He will lead himself astray. I meant the fresh blood of a newborn angel: he, too, bares a form of wrath. Though genuine he tastes, you must observe such growth, so he does not fall from the grace he has achieved.โย In stride closer he becomes, a veil in part made by the shadows casts of these wings. The fallen Serpah.ย โDo not hurt me, Shamsiel; though my pleasure from you I delight in full, I am not to be mocked: your foolishness is nothing from which I derive pleasure, or which I give pity. It is a ridiculous thing that you must think I waver in either manner, as the only one who shall be punished is yourself.โย
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย He wishes for it. The desire is palpable but, so returns the shroud of his wings, reclined back and poised, reluctantly. It is an old desire, akin to possession to cover another with oneโs own precious defining mark.ย โDo not look upon me with dejection when you could give unto those already beseeching you, Brother. As you can see - with your gift, there is nothing still but rot for me. Savor your wings... and shroud someone else with them.โย
