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There’s a legend of heaven that the church never tells. Speaking it into existence gives you a punishment worse than death itself though there couldn’t be much harsher things than being executed for all to see except for maybe, getting kicked out of the church and losing your blessing. The legend itself, however, went a little something like this: there had once been an Angel of God that had gained free will, able to do whatever it pleased, the winged creature had decided to question its creator on the world they had built. Why were the humans so selfish if they were created in their image? Why was there such a punishment for the world when God had created the circumstances for their rules to be broken in the first place? The Angel had questioned many things once it was able to peer into the world it was told to protect and that questioning, just like speaking the legend itself, had led to nothing but death.
Of course, death for an Angel wasn’t really the death humans often faced. Instead of being killed, they were demoted, thrown down to the deepest parts of heaven where no Angel dared to speak its name. There the fallen Angel resided, amongst the burning fires and the pitch black moon, amongst the stars and the coal that the damned had to shovel into the pits to keep the fire going. It was said that this Angel, with its free will and own mind, had dedicated itself to build something out of the hole it had been tossed into and that was how the legend described the realm of hell, souls of the damned tossed down the deepest parts of heaven where fires burned high to touch the ceiling, where night reigned constantly and no one ever slept.
Some say that hell contained the creatures that God deemed too sinful to remain by his side. Vampires, wolves, witches and ghouls—they all took their homes within the burning pits of heaven and some had even called it the trash chute, where nothing but rejects and garbage resided. A horrid word for the sons and daughters that God had so lovingly created but the church had no qualms against those certain supernaturals and thus, the burning witch trials had been created, that anyone who went against the church was deemed no better than a vampire suckling blood from a newborn goat. One would think that the legend would have a story the church wished not to tell, that somehow the fallen Angel had become corrupted with its free will and began to ravish the world with sin but something was wrong, something wasn’t adding up.
After all, why would a fallen Angel—
She blinks when she turns the page and nothing but the flutterings of small paper pieces meet her eyes. The rest of the book had been torn out, its pages plucked as if it was a bird and the papers were its feathers. Briefly, the nun wondered if someone had found the book before she did, if they had plucked out as many pages as they could before she pulled it from the church library deep within the old and ancient manuscripts about comets and how people told time with the sun. Originally, her goal hadn’t been to read the book at all, let alone take it from the shelves and hide it within the confines of her room, but there was something curious about the way she had overheard the church priest and nun talking to each other in hushed voices as she mopped the floor earlier that day.
“What do you mean, no ? Do you have any idea—!!”
“I’m not dumb , y’know, I know plenty of ideas and I’m saying, I don’t give a fuck—”
“Language!”
The conversation had been vague at best, despite her attempts at trying to decipher more but it was obvious that something was going on and that the priest, a rambunctious boy who seemed none the wiser that she was even there, was trying their hardest to keep it under wraps. She figured, judging by how the nun had responded so flippantly, whatever they wanted to keep quiet didn’t even matter to them and while part of her had felt bristled by the fact that they were keeping secrets, and from the church no less, another part of her yearned to know just what was being shoved under the rug—blame it on teenage hormones if you could, though she was certain the church would call those a sin from hell as well.
When she had swooped herself into the conversation, disguised as mopping the already clean floors, the nun had all but shrieked, flailing and slamming the back of his mirror against the priest’s head. She winced at the loud thud it made on his forehead, wondering how a nun was allowed to be so narcissistic about their own appearance that they carried a mirror wherever they went. Didn't the church also say narcissism and loving your beauty as if you were a god was sinful too? A crack was heard as the priest had stumbled back into the bookshelf and something fell at her feet. The nun, all too frazzled at the appearance of someone else who had definitely been listening to their conversation had already bolted out of the library leaving behind their cracked mirror and a grumbling priest rubbing his forehead.
Okay, so maybe the nun wasn’t that narcissistic.
All of that commotion, however, was what had currently led her to here, standing in front of the church pulpit with her elbows on either side and the lantern she had taken providing light towards the book she had been reading for the past hour or so. Everyone had gone to sleep while she mopped the church hall and cleaned down the pews and it had given her the perfect opportunity to read the book that had fallen, and apologize for causing the nun to break their mirror, but now that the pages were all torn out, well, perhaps she should say now that they were all ripped out, she could do nothing but mull over the words while the moon stood high in the sky, bathing her in a blue light.
Once upon a time she had thought to have seen the fallen Angel before. A cheeky little devil whose wings and tail were pure hell incarnate and if that wasn’t all, he had even acted like the righteous demon he was. Purring like mad at the sight of her, constantly flying around and wreaking havoc amongst the church, it was a surprise that she had even met him in the first place. Weren’t there spiritual barriers set about this building?
The Devil’s similarities to the fallen Angel of legend didn’t stop there either. His mind was free to do what he wanted, he laughed and questioned things as she worked long hours into the night, messing up the scrolls and sitting on top of the bookshelves, only ever quiet when a book about the stars up above had been placed on his lap. “ God makes the prettiest things,” he had whispered one night while she mopped along the halls of the church, “ just the prettiest, prettiest things you humans can’t even buy. There’s no value to the stars in the sky after all.” At the time, she supposed his words had some truth centered within them. The stars were quite pretty and reading (or rather listening) about the comets and the stars and the constellations was like viewing a whole new world.
Unfortunately, however, her new companion had still, and always will be, a devil from hell.
Carrying a knife stained with blood, a dingy hat that was protected from falling off his head due to his horns only remaining lopsided as a result, the way he curled his tail and flapped his wings—everything had pointed to him being the Angel that the legend in the book had been speaking so fondly of and she wonders, if the way he had looked at the moon and gripped that blood stained knife tight enough to make his knuckles white had any meaning behind his fall down to the garbage pits of hell.
Something scurries from the shadows, footsteps light and airy as she immediately stood up straight and whirled around, voice cracking. “W-who's there?!” Her hand curls around the handle of the mirror she had so stupidly bought with her. It was broken, shards of glass having already fallen off and leaving her reflection as nothing but a mess, but anything could be used as a weapon so maybe—she should be glad she had brought it along. “I have a weapon here and I’m not afraid to use it!” Her words make her cringe, the footsteps stop slightly and she wonders if the intruder is laughing at her horrible attempt at sounding intimidating. Where was that cheeky devil when you needed him? Didn’t he say-
“You’ll always find me when you least expect it, little nun, maybe I’ll even resolve my sins by standing by your side.”
He had always been like that too—constantly talking about his sins and his atonement, that he was sent to carry out his punishment for the crimes he’s committed and she wonders, had he done anything else but question God? Had he done something with that knife of his, stained with blood and sharp enough to slice through bone in one foul swoop? A quiet noise snaps her from her thoughts and her head snaps towards the sound, body moving to the front of the church as someone or rather something moved within the shadows. She freezes as eyes blink open, almost mesmerized by the dark eyes that seemed to pull her in and dissect her with just a measly little stare. They look as if they belong on a predator, the nun remembers that the devil could have eyes like that.
She wonders why he’s here, entering the holy house of God.
“Woah, woah!” The sudden exclamation makes her squeak, jumping as she nearly drops the mirror in her hands. Did he have to scare her so? “You can’t possibly, wait, aha, aha—you do!” Do what? Think that this was a stupid little game and the moment she saw that devil again, she’d teach him a lesson about scaring her to her wits end? Before she could open her mouth to threaten him, or at the very least demand why he was here, quiet laughter began to succeed the words that had been uttered just early. Had she already forgotten the supernatural could read minds? What was so funny in her thoughts?
The laughter, unfortunately, only got louder and louder and the more it continued, shrieking at every last decibel, the more she winced and shakily slid down to the floor. Her ears were throbbing, her eyes felt like someone had poured molten lava into them. He had never laughed so mockingly before. “ I can’t believe it, I can’t, I can’t! You really do think I’m him, hey, hey!” Something pops up in front of her as she tries to get her bearings straight and her scream gets caught in her throat as she scrambles away, holding the mirror up like some sort of cross. Damn it all!
“Huh?”
The footsteps that had been reaching her seemed to cease before suddenly stopping completely. Confused, the girl slowly opened a single eye and nearly closed it again upon reflex at the sight before her. Pure white and glowing in the moonlight, the feathery wings look as if they are glowing. “Huuuuuuh? Why did you close your eyes? Why won’t you look at me?” Footsteps begin to approach her once more, cold hands wrapped around her trembling arms and scooting up until they could settle upon her wrists. She's sure, no, positive , that her heart is beating in her throat. “And why…” the boy’s voice goes low, she squeezes her eyes shut when fingers gently poke at her cheeks—when had they let go of her wrists?
“W…why?” What could it possibly want from someone like her?
The boy is silent, breathing nearly nonexistent before he cracks his neck, huffs as if she should know the answer to his question already. “ Why ,” he repeats in a hissing manner, “why do you have that mirror that doesn’t belong to you? Did you break it?” Scathing, accusatory, she flinches as the words hang in the air and makes a quiet noise in response.
“I…I’m…”
“You….you…?”
He’s mocking her, repeating her words as she chews on the inside of her cheek until she tastes iron. “I’m not supposed to gaze upon God’s most precious creation.” The words burn her throat as they leave and the Angel before her has the audacity to start to laugh, quiet giggles that slowly build up until he’s full out shrieking all over again. She wants to tell him to stop, wants to swing the mirror away in hopes that he’d run after something he seemed so smitten with, but the cold hands are grabbing at her face now and the angel’s voice sounds low and syrupy all over again.
“ Look at me.”
And so, she flutters her eyes open and stares into the face that resembles the boy she had once yanked the tail of and watched as he tumbled off the shelf and towards her newly mopped floor. There was something different about those eyes though, something primal and wild that the devil didn’t have despite his position and she can’t help but reach out, fingers recoiling when the Angel leans back and tuts almost disapprovingly. “Ah, ah, you can’t do that! What would the church think, touching my face without permission? Touching my face at all.” He cracks a grin, fangs sharp and glinting and his hat bumps against her forehead as he leans close, she can almost reach out and touch the seal on his cheek.
He smiles like he’s been waiting for her to look at him for eons. “There, there.” A hand pats her head softly, “don’t cry, don’t cry, I’m only upset about the mirror— just the mirror.” She doesn’t know when the tears had started streaming down her face but the comfort is few and in between and her lips quiver as she hiccups into her hands. What an utmost disaster. “Ah, hey, come on, come on, I said no crying!” Fingers wipe at her cheeks, all gentle and cold at the same time, she wants to recoil but her eyes are glued to his pure white wings and the black orbs that float along either side of his head.
“Do apologize for that broken mirror, please,” the boy chirps as he stands to his feet, hands behind his back, “it would be such a shame if that nun friend of yours didn’t get it back, such a horrible, horrible, shame.” She wants to stop him from backing away, wants to crawl over and grasp at his pants while he slowly steps away from her, his ball and chain dragging along the floor like a damn prisoner.
“After all…” his eyes brighten as he throws his hands in the air, laughing as if this whole thing had been nothing but entertainment to his beady little eyes, “I can’t have my groom look hideous on his wedding day, right?”
She blinks and the Angel has disappeared leaving nothing in his wake. Her legs shake as she uses the pilput to pull herself up and her eyes nearly bug out of her sockets as she catches sight of a little note rested upon the missing pages of the book, cursive little handwriting that looked only slightly atrocious, she wonders if there were even schools in heaven and hell.
I’m glad you met my big brother, Nene-oneechan .