Chapter Text
A long, long time ago.
An eternity. An entire eternity had passed, trapped beneath that heavy tree.
Her brother had found a way to keep her away, to seal her without needing her role in creation.
Roo was definitely angry. Every day beneath that tree was a reminder of her defeat, of her own brother's betrayal. But Roo wasn’t impulsive; she knew time was her ally. As the roots sank deeper into her grayish skin, she meticulously planned every detail of her revenge. She could vividly imagine the scenarios where she destroyed everything he loved: she would kill his children, one by one, before his very eyes. What better way to break him than to destroy the one thing that seemed to matter more than her?
From her prison beneath the tree, the shadows offered her a window into the world she had been denied. She couldn’t touch it, but she could see it all: the laughter, the lights, the perfection. All those wretched beings carried on with their lives, building a perfect heaven while she sank into oblivion.
And then she saw him. A new child, created by her brother. A certain Samael. He seemed to adore this one more than the rest of creation. The other children also looked at him with reverence, as if he were a perfect reflection of their father.
Everyone loved him deeply, and from what she heard through the shadows, he was God’s most cherished angel, the center of his attention and affection. He was perfect. They loved him so much that Roo knew she had found her first target.
She would flood his little mind with sorrows and fears, make him suffer with every step, every breath, every thought or blink. She would turn him into her tool, corrupt him, and God would lose everything.
One night, when she finally decided to begin her plan, she found him. A tiny baby. His skin was as white as his father’s, and his hair was golden like the sun. He had red marks on his chubby cheeks. But what stopped her were his eyes: two bright sapphires looking directly at her.
It was disgusting. And yet, she couldn’t look away. Those eyes were hypnotic. Suddenly, she realized that the child wasn’t just awake but was staring at her.
He laughed. A soft, energetic laugh that echoed in the darkness. Without knowing why, Roo raised her hand and gave a small wave.
“He’s just a baby,” she thought. “It will be easy to break him.” But when Samael responded with a gentle laugh, something inside her faltered.
“I’ll do it tomorrow,” she told herself, but every night, she returned. Every night, she watched him sleep, unable to disrupt his peaceful rest.
“Maybe tormenting a child while he sleeps is too much, even for me,” she eventually thought. So she began visiting him during the day. When he cried for the attention he didn’t receive, Roo appeared. She told stories from the shadows, and when he wasn’t crying, she simply watched him play, tripping him whenever he tried to take a step or amusing herself by hiding his things.
She convinced herself she wasn’t getting attached, that Samael was just a piece in her plans, that everything she did was to further her goals. But every time the little one cried, she was the first to come to him.
No, she didn’t see him as anything more than a nuisance. Or so she kept telling herself.
And then the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years, always postponing her plan. Still, she witnessed every stage of his growth. She saw his first attempts to speak, listening to him babble sounds that eventually formed her name. Though she pretended not to care, that clumsy, poorly pronounced “Roo” was etched into her mind. She watched as, with his first steps, he tried to reach the corners where she hid from the light, laughing every time he fell.
Over time, Samael learned to seek her out. In the darkest corners of his heavenly home, in the shadows everyone else ignored. He began calling her whenever he felt lonely or restless, or just wanted to be with her. She was always there, hidden but present. Telling him stories only she and her brother knew, teaching him secrets about the shadows no one else could understand.
They were happy together. Samael didn’t fear her or avoid her, as others did. Instead, he sought her out in the shadows with a radiant smile. Roo couldn’t help it; though she refused to admit it, she saw him almost like a son. Perhaps, for the first time, she began to understand what her brother saw in those creatures.
But, of course, to her, Samael was very different from the other angels in that stupid kingdom. He had something, something that called to her. Maybe it was the way he looked at her—truly looked at her—without fear or rejection, only affection. Every laugh they shared, every secret exchanged in the darkest corners, brought her a strange comfort.
And then Samael started to notice something.
“Why don’t you come around when Dad is here?” he asked one day, his sapphire eyes shining with curiosity. Roo didn’t answer; she simply looked away.
Every time Roo was near Samael, she felt God’s presence. More than once, she saw him at the end of the halls, slowly approaching, subtly warning her to leave. God’s light filled the space, forcing her to retreat as if trying to erase her from existence. His presence wouldn’t let her stay for long.
She couldn’t stand it. Every moment God spent with Samael, every shared smile, every tender moment she couldn’t erase from her mind reminded her of everything she had been denied. He chose to appear in every little moment they had, driving her away from Samael, opening the curtains, or simply expanding his light.
He was taking him away! Just like he had taken everything else! But this time, she wouldn’t allow it. This time, she wouldn’t share Samael as she had been forced to share creation. He was hers.
That’s when she understood. If her brother was driving her away, it was because he feared Samael might care for her. And that would be her true revenge. She wouldn’t destroy him. She wouldn’t turn him into her weapon. She would win him over.
But, of course, God wouldn’t allow it. And very soon, he taught Samael to expand his own light. Guided by his father’s light, Samael began to see less of her. At first, he still sought her out, calling her in his moments of sadness. But over time, those calls grew less frequent until they stopped altogether.
God had taught Samael to ignore her, to expand his own light, to believe she was nothing more than an illusion. And Samael believed it. He forgot her.
The void Samael left was worse than the roots keeping her trapped. But it wouldn’t be the end. One day, when the time was right, she would reclaim him.
Roo would wait. She always did. Perhaps, when an apple fell, her time would come. And this time, no one would stop her.