Curiouser and curiouser. She had only begun to dissect the text, flipping back and forth between pages, knitting her brow as she couldn't help but draw parallels between what was being described, and her own demonificaiton.
Hair and eyes set ablaze. Flesh burnt away into ash. Crossing rivers, even bathing in lakes of fire. But instead of descending, the prophet Enoch ascended, and became an angel. Humans turning into demons were a dime a dozen, but his was the only account of a human ever turning into an angel.
Even more so, he was put in a station above the other archangels as the voice of God. Metatron.
Tracing her fingers over the words, scored in ink from millennia long past, she almost thought it funny. No, ironic. That was the right word. That both God and Lucifer chose the same methods to turn humans into what they considered divine. A life beyond death, where you had to burn the last vestiges of your humanity, until they were naught but smoke and ash to be carried away by the wind.
To be sacred was to be one with the flames, whether it was above or below. Maybe that's what it meant. She was just grateful that she went the way she did. The hellfire coursing through her veins was a testament to what she had become, and who she had defied to get there. To still be standing on her own two feet, five hundred years later.
To think, she could have gone the other way. What a sad life indeed...
