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You’ve always been a good angel. Keep your head down, your nose clean. (Keep the miracles flowing and the big wigs happy. Stick to God’s plan. Don’t question it.)
Good angels love. But they don’t love demons, and that’s where you went wrong.
The truth is, you’ve always known about his love for you. You’re a being of love, after all. You first felt it somewhere between Noah’s Ark and the Tower of Babel. The spark was so fleeting, you thought perhaps you imagined it. But the more time you spent with him, the more you knew that spark was becoming a raging fire.
All it did was stoke yours. You were a fool to ever think you could put it out.
Were you already in love with him when he saved Job’s children? Did you love him in Edinburgh? In Mesopotamia, in Rome? In Eden? When the first nebula burst from his fingertips (and yours), did your love spill out and light up the sky alongside the stars? Did your knees go weak? (Did your wings?) Did you steal glances at him in the theatre? Do you think of him whenever lovers kiss? When you bite into an apple? Do you wish you could sink your teeth into his skin instead? Do you hide your shame in silk sheets, do your lips tremble when you whisper his name in the dark?
Perhaps you aren't a good angel after all.
You’ve never been a good demon. You’re simply not good at being bad. Good demons are good at being bad. Good demons don’t love, and they certainly don’t love angels. But you’re not a good demon, are you?
You think you are. Or maybe you know that you’re not, but you pretend anyway. You shroud your good deeds in sarcasm and wit as though that might cancel out the good will. You were a fool to ever think you could get away with it.
If you’re so evil, then why did you shelter an angel under your wing, before you ever even told him your name? Why did you rescue him from the Bastille? Why did you save his books in the middle of the war? Why did you make Hamlet so successful? (Was it the look in his eyes, the smile on his face? Was it the leap in your throat, in your heart?) Do you wish that God had given you a different heart? (One that wasn’t so perilous, so fragile? So human?) Why did you stop time so he could read all the books in the library of Alexandria? Did you know it was going to burn? (Were you responsible?) Why did you take his photo with you when you went to Greece? (Was it to compare his beauty to the statues of the ancient gods?)
Your love for him has turned you so good that you will always be a bad demon. But what better fit is there for a bad demon than a bad angel?