Beelzebub? I've got those files you were asking for the other day - what the fuck happened to you?
*The Prince, currently on the floor covered by a few pieces of paper that fell from thwir desk following the impact between their body and the floor, laid unconcious with their wings unfurled. Sweat had dried on their forehead, and they office was in shambles;
The already beated up furniture had got knocked over to the ground, some pieces having even broken off in the process. Anything that sat on top of something beforehand now was at floor level, and very little remained where it should've been.
Flies buzzed around their still (barely, not that was really an issue) breathing lord, buzzing about and trying to hide once again inside their wings.*
Adam sat beneath the wide branches of a fig tree, the leaves still and heavy as if the garden itself was holding its breath. The usual warmth that wrapped him like an unseen embrace had faded. A strange chill had settled over the ground. He pressed his hand to the soil. Cold.
Above, the sky had lost its gentle blue. It turned a deep gray, like ash smeared across the heavens. Adam looked up, brow furrowed, uncomprehending.
And then it came.
Soft at first—like dew from the air itself. A drop struck his brow and slid down his cheek. Another splashed against his bare shoulder. He flinched.
More followed, faster, louder. Rain. At that time he didn’t know what it was called, only that he didn’t like it. At all.
Adam gasped as the coolness soaked into his bared skin. He stumbled out from under the tree, bare feet slapping against the muddied earth. His long, unbound hair clung to his neck and back, water dripping from his lashes. He had never felt this before. Eden had always been warmth and light. This was something new. Something raw.
His breath came in trembling bursts, visible now in the air. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as the rain continued to fall, relentless and cold. The garden around him shimmered with the downpour—leaves bowed, flowers shut tight, birds silent in their nests.
“Why?” he whispered to the sky. “Why does it hurt?”
There was no answer. Just the rhythm of water striking leaves, stone, and skin. He fell to his knees, the mud rising between his fingers. He wasn’t angry. Just confused. Alone.
