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Blood danced across the marble tiles to a song of death.
The scent of iron cut through the otherwise-still air, the previous smell of perfumes and flowers gone as if scared away by the aura of impending ruin. Twin snakes hissed weakly as they writhed, spines twisted and broken. A king lay dying in his evening robes, crimson ichor flowing between his fingers that clutched the gash that tore through his chest. Holding his other hand was the gentle, impossibly soft touch of a lover.
A killer.
Gabriel looked down upon the visage of the dying King Minos, life bleeding from his wounds in a steady dream, the magical image playing within the blackness of his blind eyes. The love that his heart had once held was gone, beaten and torn and frozen over until they were no warmer than the icy pits of Treachery.
The Archangel knew there could be no room for love in his heart anymore. Not for sinners, not for Hell, not even for those he had once cared for. Now, Heaven had ordered him to kill, and Gabriel would obey.
He had to obey — at least, that's what Gabriel told himself. As if that made this any better.
Below his hand, Minos’s grip was growing weaker, fingers paling in colour. The King said nothing between his desperate gasps for air, each struggled breath causing more blood to pump from the wound in his chest. Amber eyes watched Gabriel, piercing his soul; they focused not at his bloody hands, or his offending sword dripping ichor, but only at Gabriel’s face, the face those eyes had once gazed at with tender affection.
'Speak not, sinner.' Gabriel murmured, trying to sound flat, to push Minos away in his final moments; but even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow. 'You have been sentenced by the Council of Heaven itself.'
Minos gaped like a fish and shifted, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over and down his cheeks. Imperceptibly, his fingers tightened. Gabriel flinched. His hand, his murdering, unworthy hand, squeezed the king's palm back in the tiniest yet most treasonous show of support.
Minos’s blood was burning against his skin, as if reminding Gabriel of his transgressions. Sick, the archangel tried to pull away, to retreat behind his cold obedience and divine judgment, but something inside him refused to move.
Memories clawed at him like a whirl of blades. Minos, laughing in candlelight. Minos’s hand, guiding him through the streets of the Renaissance, showing him art and colour and the thousand shades of mortal love. Minos preening his wings, Minos building him a nest of blankets, Minos pressing soft kisses to his stitched eye sockets against the silken sheets of his bed and whispering, 'you are allowed to be loved, my sweet dove.'
But Minos would do no more of those things. Because the Council had simply pointed a finger and ordered, 'Kill.' And kill Gabriel had.
What would they say, to see him like this? To see the Archangel Gabriel, Warrior of Light, holding a sinner as a lover?
Blood trickled from his lips like wine as Minos let out the faintest whisper; a final phrase, words Gabriel had heard a million times before. 'My . . . my sweet dove . . . why?'
Gabriel felt a void open up within his heart as Minos's hand slipped from his.
A pulse flickering away like the falling wings of butterflies.
A last, rasping breath exhaled between familiar, soft lips.
A dullness to his eyes that Gabriel knew he would never forget.
He would never forget any of this. The blood, the pleading, the cries. Silken robes that had once been a symbol of affection, now closing around him like a shroud. The betrayal painted in every line of Minos's perfect face. The vision would stay with him forever more, smothering all former echoes of their love.
So Gabriel steeled himself against the memories.
He would tear down the remains of the Renaissance, with the same hands that had helped build it eons ago. He would assume the post of Judge of Hell, erasing anything that remained of Minos and his legacy. He would strip every last ounce of care from his veins, until nothing remained but imperfect hatred.
Minos was no king. He was just a pretty peacock who thought the world was his chick.
And a dove had no place in bed with a peacock.