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Most angels are not “born”, in the human sense. While a select number of humans are offered a chance at rebirth in the Celestial Realm once their time on Earth has passed them by, the majority of angels are instead molded from the wet clay of the cosmos, each detail deliberately sculpted with a fine tool to create a perfect physical specimen.
Except for you, or so it seemed.
The conventional wisdom states that in the Celestial Realm, there is no need to conceal one’s wings– here, no one will hunt you for them. And yet, what is there to do when you yourself wish to tear them from your body, to permanently erase them?
No one can really say when you first became aware of the defect in your wings– not even you. Perhaps you’d always been aware of it, since the moment life was breathed into you and you awakened to the static, pink glow of the dawn. Or maybe it was when you first realized that you couldn’t soar through the air with the sweeping dexterity of your companions. Mirrors are scarce in the Celestial Realm, so could it have been the first time you saw your reflection staring back at you?
And yet, the exact moment of realization doesn’t even matter, for to even have those thoughts of dissatisfaction with your physical frame is to blaspheme, to defy Father’s will.
The fear of blasphemy, however, did not stop your angelic companions from commenting on, mocking your appearance; in the polite, formal way angels are instructed to speak, it sounded all the more contemptuous.
“Are you okay? Your wings look a little bit… unwell.”
“Can we be sure he’s not really a demon, here to infiltrate us?”
How blissful it must be, to live a life so content and unexamined.
There were two angels in particular, a set of twins, who delighted in asking pointed questions about your wings. Typically, their questioning would occur as you strolled in the gardens, or abandoned corners of the library, and would go unnoticed by other passers-by. After all, what is so strange about three friends walking together? But to call them your friends would of course be a lie.
“Hey, hey! Let me touch your wings. I bet they feel disgusting.”
At that they burst into laughter, a horrible sound that seemed to grow in volume as it echoed off the marble walls.
“And what exactly are you doing?”
It was as they raised a hand to touch you that a voice echoed from the end of the corridor. Looking towards the source, you saw a figure you recognized as Simeon, one of the lofty Archangels. The other two looked up as well, and their faces, which had been twisted into mocking smiles, seemed to fall into expressions of dismay as he headed towards you, cape lightly fluttering behind him.
“A-ah, Simeon. Nothing, we’re just joking around.”
“Really? And is your friend also in on this joke?”
You said nothing, merely making eye contact with him and then quickly looking away.
“You know, if there’s one thing I can’t tolerate, it’s bullying.”
His voice was unexpectedly stern, given the reputation he had as a gentle soul.
“It’s not bullying, really! We’re just… curious, as to the differences in our wings, and-”
“Bullying, and making excuses.”
With a perfectly angelic smile on his face, his body began to glow white, and slowly transform before your eyes.
Angels are usually thought of as being tempered in their emotions, and this, to a large extent, is true: from birth, the importance of austerity and restraint, and the goal of being faithful (and also largely unthinking) is emphasized.
And yet, there are times when the facade is let down, when pure, overwhelming emotion shines through. In these moments the human form is cast off, and the angel’s true form is revealed:
four interlocking golden rings that spun around each other slowly, ominously; each covered in a multitude of unblinking eyes, all protecting a nebulous fetal form that energy seemed to emanate off of, yielding a full-body halo of strange symbols, lines and abstractly arranged dots foriegn to any alphabet.
It is said that this fetal form is the essential life force of the angel, the true self. But to bear it so casually in such a circumstance… would Simeon really face no repercussions for this? Was protecting you really worth the trouble?
Seeing the look of something between rage and hatred in each of the spinning eyes, the twins quickly made their exit, ducking into a hallway a few feet behind where you stood. Returning to his everyday form, you couldn’t help but notice how such an outburst did not displace a single hair upon his head, nor dull the sparkle in his eyes as he turned to ask you if you were alright, and what the names of the twins that had been harassing you were.
In that moment, it would not be unreasonable to say that you fell in love, just a bit.
After that day, you began to see each other more and more often, and after a softly murmured confession before attending morning prayers, you had begun a covert yet whirlwind romance, away from the near-omnipresent eye of Father and the other angels. For the first time, you were able to forget about the sense of shame that hung over you constantly–a personalized cloud marring the spotless sky–and focus undividedly on someone else.
One day, in a secluded corner of the gardens, he allowed his own wings to unfurl gracefully, and along with your own, formed a sort of snow-white chrysalis around the two of you. With the slightest hint of blush crossing his face, he pressed his lips warmly to your own, and time seemed to stop…
In that instant, however, you were incapable of noticing the far-off look on his face, the deep-seated melancholy that he could only disguise for so long, and which was readily visible in the reflection in his eyes of the pure white wings that encircled the two of you.
Nightmares are a common affliction in the Celestial Realm; Simeon too has them often. Though he doesn’t speak of the contents, you can guess at them: the Great War, spoken about in cautious, oblique whispers– the time when a heartless schism tore apart the realm, and those Simeon had considered family were so brutally torn away. You too remember the chaos of those days; albeit not with the raw clarity that he does, but the sound of angels crying in sorrow is not something that is quickly forgotten.
Little did you know, at that time, that the sound of weeping would soon echo anew in your ears.
––––––
Cries of consternation and panicked sorrow awakened you from your slumber one evening.
“The west tower is on fire!”
Jumping from your bed, you rushed to look out the window from which you could see the tower. Indeed, it was burning with a powerful orange flame.
Turning to leave your room, to rush to the scene of the blaze to try and help, you noticed that a piece of paper had been slipped under your door. Picking it up, you realized it was a letter, folded in thirds and bearing what was instantly recognizable as Simeon’s personal seal. In that moment, your heart sank, and you understood exactly what had transpired. With hands that had not yet had time to begin trembling, you broke the seal and began to read:
My love -
Please forgive me for the actions I have undertaken. When I was a Seraphim, I was often held up as the example of a perfect angel: obedient, self-controlled, and overflowing with love for Father. But none of these things are true anymore. No longer can I believe in the teachings, or sing the hymns of praise.
I stopped believing when the war ended, and I looked down and all I saw was the blood staining my hands. I stopped believing when I saw how you were treated simply because of the way you looked, and I stopped believing when I realized Lilith’s death was being taught to the cherubs as nothing more than “an act of rebellion”, instead of the love-borne sacrifice that it was. I suppose in my own way, I’m following in her footsteps.
I can no longer call myself an angel in good faith, and so I’ve decided to leave. The fire in the west tower is simply an illusion, as I’m sure has been discovered by the time you’re reading this. Destruction is not my goal, I simply need a moment’s distraction.
Please understand that this letter is not meant to convince you to follow me. Thoughts of you were the one thing that gave me pause in my plans, and even now as I write this letter, you cling to my thoughts like a shadow does to a body. But I cannot stay here, and to do so would only hurt you as well.
Perhaps one day, we can meet again.
Simeon
Without him, the days, passing by with cruel indifference, seemed to grow longer and longer, almost imperceptibly. For the first time, you found yourself growing irritated at the perpetual sunlight that flooded the realm– could it not turn to night just once, so that the darkness could console you, could obfuscate your overflowing tears?
Trying to hold back the thoughts, the memories, the feelings–to be a proper angel once more–you threw yourself into your duties, hoping routine would wear the edge off the path of immortality you were consigned to walk alone.
But still, it lacerated your feet.
You always kept Simeon’s letter on your person, fearing that if anyone else were to see the contents, it would be seized as the heretical scribblings of a deranged ex-angel who didn’t know how to move on. And initially, you as well thought that to take such drastic action over an event that transpired so long ago was perhaps an overreaction. But as time continued to pass, and you read and re-read the letter, you recognized more and more of what he said as the truth. The situation was indeed untenable.
As you looked out the window one day, you realized just how empty the life given to angels really was. Maybe a life of prayer was suited to those who did not have to endure mockery at the hands of others, or suffer the pain of having a lover ripped away, but for you, there was nothing left to tether you to your angelic life. To abandon it would be to taste freedom, and the sweetness of a tender embrace once more.
And so, you arrived at the same conclusion Simeon did. You would cast off your wings, willingly corrupt yourself, and join him in the land of demons. Perhaps you should have felt sadder about this decision, but after having made it, you felt only a sense of freedom, of great excitement at the prospect of seeing him again, and not having to conceal your relationship.
The preparations made, you stole away from choir rehearsal, already a grave transgression in and of itself. But what use is singing when the melodies remain the same across years and years, when the words are but unthinking exultations to an empty eternity?
As you paused at the gates to the Celestial Realm, temporarily unguarded, the echoes of the descant, sung by the smallest cherubs, reached your ears. Had their voices always sounded so frail, so hollow? Allowing yourself one final look at the place that had birthed you, that had raised you and taught you shame and love in kind, you felt a momentary pang of regret at the course you had chosen. If our actions really are predestined in stars, what cruel deity would condemn you to this fate?
The kind of deity who would disfigure you, who would consign you to mockery, and drive away the only figure who had shown you respect and kindness, the one whom you love, or so you concluded.
Drawing and releasing a deep breath, you exited through the pearly gates and immediately plummeted through the treacherous clouds.
––––––
As you fell, all you could feel was a searing pain at the place where your wings were joined with your body. Opening your eyes, you saw a trail of white feathers in your wake, drifting in the air for a moment before becoming ashen and eventually evaporating into the ether. Despite the pain, you still felt the urge to smile– at last, you were free from the burden that had tortured you so.
The color of the sky changed as well, fading from the pale pinks and blues of the Celestial Realm to the oranges of a human world twilight, and finally to the solid black you know to be the hallmark of the Devildom sky.
Landing gently on the ground, you attempted to stagger to your feet, but were quickly overcome by the shooting pain in your back– it felt as though the skin was being flayed from your now-demonic flesh. Reaching around to feel gently at the wounds, your hand returned slick with dark red fluid. So this is what it feels like to bleed…
Another spasm convulsed through your body, and you crumpled to the ground as all strength deserted you. Your vision blurred, but not before you spied a pair of white boots rushing towards you, almost seeming to shine against the blackened earth.
Your memories of the following days and weeks are hazy, as if watched second-hand from behind a pane of frosted glass– reduced to the simplest shapes and colors. The tenderness of your wounds as he dressed them, and the melancholy of looking out the window to perpetual darkness, to be tempered only by the sweetness of falling asleep in his embrace… these things remain indelibly in your mind, even having been divorced from their context.
One day, about three months after your arrival in the Devildom, he came to you with a proposition (the sparkle in his eyes, you happily noticed, seemed to glimmer even brighter than it did in the Celestial Realm).
“I’ve heard there’s going to be a star shower tomorrow. Would you like to go?”
“A star shower…?”
“Apparently it’s a natural phenomenon where, when viewed from the right area, raindrops shine like falling stars.”
“Yeah, I’d love to go.”
And so you found yourself standing atop one of the mountains that encircled the Devildom, watching the raindrops as they shone golden for a brilliant, yet ultimately fleeting moment.
“Why… did you follow me here?”
Simeon’s voice came out softly, barely louder than the gentle pitter-patter of the rain.
“I didn’t coerce you into falling with me, did I?”
“Don’t be stupid. I missed you, of course, but I had no reason to remain an angel anyway. What was I supposed to do, go back to people making fun of my wings?”
You felt him relax next to you, the gentle silence soon returning. Had this really been a worry of his?
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Soon after that, the star shower ended, and the actual stars emerged to take the ersatz ones’ place. But even the brightly shining Devildom constellations didn’t compare to the radiance of the figure standing next to you, his eyes seeming to shine as he spoke about how beautiful the rain looked. And although you’ll never be able to recreate the bliss of being wrapped in the feather-light caress of each other’s wings, to be able to spend all the time you wish with him, just the two of you alone, is more than a worthwhile exchange.