.:One-Shot:. A moment of peace
How long had it been since she last had a moment of peace? Too long, if you ask her. Not since Malthael had been found, not since... Sabirah gripped the handle of her scythe tightly, eliminating the thoughts of her demise. Well, trying her best to. Her mind hadn't been clear since she's found Wisdom- or, his physical body. That was no longer Wisdom, he was Death now. She had to remember that. No longer could she find comfort in him; he would turn her away, tell her to go make him stronger. And she did. Every time he would shoo her away, she would leave for Sanctuary and do as she was told, comfort but a distant memory. She had taken so many lives already; doubting in the back of her head. Maybe they were innocent, she would think. Maybe they had no part in this war, she would reason. But then, as if Death could read her thoughts, they would consume her again, remind her of what they are, what they have done through all of their existence. Mortals were monsters, oddities of nature. Murderers. After all, had it not been them who took Ramma's life so mercilessly? Sometimes a soft breath would escape her; a pitiful attempt at a miserable laugh. She would laugh at her outcome, wonder if her vow had been the one to lead her here. Unable to speak despite it being the only option, having to accept her master's every word in fear of his ire. His words that once promised safety now brought tyranny. But oh was he charismatic. The others would deem him as the Wise One, their master who their loyalty would lead them to their deaths. All but her. Sabirah, the skeptic. She, who's wings still shone brightly, the one who begun to doubt Wisdom's words. Wise as she may be, Sabirah knew Malthael could do whatever he wished to do with her. She could not tattle, she would have to take her own life if she did. Such is the vow. With wisdom, comes eternal silence. If a death is needed, then so be it. The maiden once more shook her head free from those thoughts, illumining the ground underneath her as she landed. There she stood, scythe in hand, wings messily folding back, paranoia seeping her every thought. So many lives she had taken, so many begged to be spared. None of them had been spared. Her gaze fell upon the clearing. Grass who was once a dull green now a dark blue, tips painted white by the light of the moon. The trees, eerie as they were, brought her a feeling of safety, if only just a little bit. Though she may be here to find a victim to claim, she always wandered back in this spot, where she had perfect view of the sky. Slowly, the angel took a seat on the ground, gently setting her satchel down next to her. Disturbed by the sudden pressure, the feline poked its head out from the flap and chirped. Sabirah's wings fluttered, the air around them warming up. Sanctuary could be harsh at night and a feline as frail as her companion was needed all the warmth it could get. Even though she was sure its messy fur did that job just right. She pulled back the flap of the satchel and slid her hands inside, hooking them under the cat's belly. Though it lacked much fur there, she was sure it would grow back one day. The feline chirped, its ears perked up as they were settled onto the death maiden's cold lap, her arms holding it close to her abdomen. The tendrils of her wings parted, snaking by her sides to form a sort of cocoon around herself and the cat. Though she couldn't feel it, the cat seemed plenty happy with the heat it was receiving and; as one would expect it to do, it yawned and continued on with its nap. Once again, Sabirah was left alone with her darkening thoughts. tiredly, she lifted her gaze up to the night sky. Was home still an option at this point? She wondered how a dear friend of hers was holding on. Azabel. A follower of Hope who she seemed to interest. He used to pester her until she would finally take a break from the scrolls she would write, the wisdom she would lay in words. No matter how many times she had kicked him out of her office, he would always find a way inside. The times she had deemed him an annoyance were too many to count. Yet despite her harsh feelings for him, she'd grown to appreciate his thoughtfulness. ________________________________________ "Sabirah." The stern voice of the healer resonated within the walls of her residence. The mute still kept her focus on the words she wrote, merely lifting her head up to watch the ink drop from the quill as she dipped it in the bottle. An armored hand waved in front of her field of view, of which she ignored and returned to her task. Again, the hand returned, this time snapping its fingers to distract her. Her wings flared up and she slammed both hands on the desk in frustration. She turned to look at the angel besides her. "Don't give me that look, Sab." She kept glaring. Azabel simply chuckled and fluttered his wings. They were of a pink-ish hue, the tendrils never truly staying still. If anything, she could associate them to the leaves of one of the Weeping Willows in the gardens of Hope. His armor a warm bronze, white cloth decorated with various patterns of flowers hid most of it though. He always seemed calm and upbeat, even after a tragic loss; he would always be the first to try and lift the mood of his brothers and sisters. The maiden of Wisdom let out a silent sneer, reaching over to the quill- only for it to be taken from her at the last second. "You know Wisdom won't be too happy if he finds out you've been cooped up here since the last Lightsong." He mused, holding her at bay with an arm while his other arm held the quill out of her reach. No matter how much she would struggle, she wasn't getting anywhere. Flying didn't help either, he was as flexible as he was annoying. Azabel very well knew that, as wise as Sabirah was, he was almost twice her size and very well could snatch the quill right back out of her hands. She really wasn't hat strong. Or tall. Of course, he would use that to his advantage. Sabirah gave in after a few moments, landing back on the floor with her fists clenched at her sides and a foot tapping on the darkened marble of her already dark office. Her wings flared and stiff, her aura accusing. He was the cause of her oh so dramatic misery. Azabel set his hands on her hips and leaned down towards her. "Just a few minutes outside and I'll be out of your wings, got it?" He hummed, waving the quill in front of her. Sure, he wouldn't be out of her wings forever, but every moment without him pestering her to 'be healthier' was a moment of peace. The maiden glared at him for a moment longer before her shoulders slumped and her head tilted down, wings going limp. Fine. She gave in. White flag. She yielded. Azabel clasped his hands together and pulled her close to him, an arm draping around her shoulders as they left the office and, in turn, the Pools of Wisdom. "Come on, you'll love the new flora that popped up near the Willows." ________________________________________ She didn't know how he did it, but every time he would get her out of her office, it always ended up with him braiding her hair. Well, hair, it was more like a mass of light resembling hair. All maidens had them, so they set apart from their fellow angels. Odd, but she had grown used to it. Sabirah lifted the cat up and nuzzled the side of her head against its fur, earning a confused meow. She didn't answer, her mind going back to her dear friend. He was probably worried sick about her. Or maybe, her hope would argue, just maybe he was busy with tending to the flora that grew in the gardens. Maybe even getting stuck in a tree too. Like that time Sabirah had to untangle his wings from a branch. Tsk. The idiot.
