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 Posted: Sun Jun 08, 2014 11:47 pm
 “And it was said that His light brought life and glory. That all darkness fled before His justice and heavenly breath which washed the land. Bathing it in purity, a gift to His children of mortal flesh to live in His love forever more...”
What a silly thing, what an ignorant thing. This world is bathed in blood, hunger, sweat and sex. There is nothing pure about this world that He left behind. But why did he leave us? Why did he leave his children to fend for their own, for the mortal fleshed ones to wallow, weep and mourn? They know of His disappearance. They know that He is absent from their hearts. They feel it. They may be mortals but they are not total and complete morons. Many days have passed and I have wondered where it is my Father has wandered. I once blamed Him... Blamed Him for the pain in my back where my wings once were- but have now been burned away by the flames of judgment. I blamed him for this cursed prison that I was placed in by my own sisters and brothers of the heavenly sort... But I do not blame Him anymore. He is of mere paternal nature consumed by being controlled by his children. So, I will become what He could never be. I will be the monster He refused to become. To free Him. To save Him. I will set forth and condemn my beloved siblings for their cruelty in controlling our beloved Father of Heaven. By my name, Lucifer, I will be the one to set my Father free of my siblings tyrannical nature!
A figure lay collapsed upon the earth, eyes cast towards a dreary sky; his expression dull and dying as he bled into the mud. The thrum of distant thunder rippled the gray clouds like disturbed waters. A storm approached, it would not be long til the heavens wept. Paling blue eyes blinked once as the first few droplets hit an alabaster cheek. Rain, the cool and relieving touch of rain. The sparse drops became abundant as the fell to collide with the earth. The splattering of mud onto the limp form only shown desire that the earth sought to reclaim the body thought to be soon dead. A dying gaze widened with attentiveness as the sky lit up brightly, erratic movements of electricity stretched and took the sky; a crack of thunder soon followed. It seemed to drown out the beat of his own now mortal heart. As the light and sound faded, the form recalled why it was he laid there in the heap of blood and damp earth. His body arched up in an almost painful manner as agony set into the bones and muscles of his back. A great cry he released in anguish and sorrow. Long and loud did he cry out as hot tears burned at the corner of his temples, contrasting the cold rain that bashed him. It was hard to accept his fate, he believed to have done nothing wrong. He thought he was merely helping. Why was he burned for it and doomed to roam the land as a mortal? He did nothing wrong!
From his pain came rage and after his initial cry, he swallowed his pain and returned it back to the depths of which it came. He mustered the strength to sit up, rolling about at first like a stranded turtle to get into a proper position. He leaned forward and burrowed his face into he bent knees. He knew that closing his eyes and praying would bring him nothing. He had been forsaken like ones of the mortal flesh. He was to never be heard of again. At that instance, whether it be out of spite or not caring anymore, he managed to get to his feet and find steady ground. All which was sore and blistering didn't matter anymore. All he knew then was that he needed to walk, to where he was unsure but something inside told him to move. That pain was only an illusion and that he would be given a chance to exact his revenge. One bare, bloodied foot moved in front of the other. Through the rain he walked, staring at nothing but his feet sinking into the mud. He had not even registered how far it was that he has walked until his toes scraped across something other then simply dirt and rock. His gaze focused and he noticed that he was padding across decrepit stones of a graveyard. His head lulled back to stare up at a cathedral cast in great shadow. Even as lightening came forth to weave the sky with light, the cathedral remained in shadow. It was ominous to him. It scared him even. This mortal piece of flesh that he had become. His heart heaved in great agony at the sensations that a mortal bore such as fear. It only further broke him down.
Moving forward towards the shelter, he noticed the building's unique characteristics upon closer inspection. The structure was a mere ruin, the earth trying to reclaim it through veins and trees which grew out of every crack that was big enough. The stained glass, though perhaps once beautiful when it was intact now was pieced and oxidized from years of neglect. The pale form walked pass the threshold and through a pair of thin marbled doors that were barely able to move on stiff hinges. Inside, the figure noticed that this was no normal cathedral. There were no benches for worship, nor alter to preach. But the hall was magnificent in its own ruin. At its pillars angels held up the great hall but their expression were of morbid nature, tortured and taken by a maddened desperation. As if holding this hall up was their curse for all eternity. The skylight that had once been made of stained glass was now a mere hole, allowing the rain pour into the building. Perhaps a storm like the one raging outside had brought down parts of skylight. The fallen came to a knee, no longer able to hold himself up. The pain began to settle in too quickly. He breathed heavily as his body began to overheat itself to compensate for the chill that ran down his spine. Suddenly, he was snapped from his own thoughts and jerked his head around the empty room. Nothing! There was nothing! Terror began to settle into him as he strained himself to hear what it was that he thought might be there.
His breathing became swallow as he tried to control it. At one point he stopped breathing all together. What was in here with him? He whipped his head to the left. There it was again! Thunder cracked and he fell back, pain making him grind his teeth as he trembled. 'Shhhh, shh, shhh.' The figure turned his attention forward in desperation, for an answer to these voices in his head. To his shock, he laid eyes upon a statue which was not there before. The statue was.. Well, it provided a mixture of emotion. Both immensely beautiful yet horrifyingly ugly, the statue was constructed of alabaster and was in the form of an angel with pointed ends emerging from its forehead and the winds adorning his back. The one of now mortal flesh fought back tears. How he missed his beautiful wings of white light. He could smite this creature that brought him so much terror. 'Shhh, shh, shhh,' whispered the statue. ' Do not cry, I will take your pain from you.' With its cold and expressionless face, it continued its murmurs that echoed throughout the cathedral. The voice was everywhere. 'I will give you solace and sweet dreams. I won't lie to you. I will love you deeper than anyone could.' The shivering mortal moved forward, serenaded by promises...
'But I need you to do something for me- I need you to agree to let me love you. To free you from pain.' As the gap began to close between the fallen and the statue, the one of mortal flesh nodded as tears flowed freely. He walked as a child would walk to their parent after having fallen and hurt themselves. This hapless mortal saw only release from the agony and in hoarse and barely audible voice, he spoke, “Yes. Yes to whatever you need to release me. It hurts. It hurts so much. I did nothing wrong.” Perhaps he knew what he was doing at the time but nothing mattered anymore. He would never have what he once had. But maybe he realized it once he saw the statue, once a expressionless being, smile he understood that he had done something beyond his comprehension. So he gave himself willingly to the creature. For that was what he discovered as it came to life and reached out to take his face in cold, clawed fingers. That both terrible and beautiful face came close to his own and pale eyes became even paler as he felt his pain slipping away. His skin began to loose color and wither beneath the stone fingers until there was nothing left. His form turned to ash. Leaving him to be nothing more than remnant upon the stone of the cursed cathedral. But the statue had kept his promise. It had relieved his pain. +++ And then there was one. The once stone being had finally become whole. His flesh was no longer of pale marble. His skin was soft and though still chill, was not hard like it once was. Blonde white hair quickly matted his face, the thick, curled tresses becoming damp by the droplets of rain falling through the skylight. The figure took a deep breath inwards, savoring the taste that fresh rain gave the senses. Silver eyes looked down towards the pile of ash at his feet. A smirk twitched at the corners of his lips as he took a knee to collect a fistful of the remnant. “Did I not promise you that your pain will subside at my love? But I will give you another gift-” He brought his occupied hand close to his face as he spoke, as if telling a secret. “ Now that I am free, I will exact revenge for you. For all of our brothers and sisters that were damned. I won't let your wings rot for nothing.” Opening his hand, he took a breath and puckered his lips and blew outwards; blowing the ash away as he stood. His twitching smirk grew into a brilliant, maddening smile as he spoke more loudly. “ I will bring down all of heaven!” His cry echoed the hall as he puffed his chest to laugh, excitement consuming his freshly revived body. Lightning rippled the sky once more, bringing light to the dark crevices of the hall. There, as he laughed, the angels that bore the weight as pillars to the building began to weep red from their eyes. For they knew that Lucifer would never stop in his lust to wage war against heaven. As his boisterous laughter died down, he rolled his neck and shoulders. At his back, opal colored wings worked the bones and joints into cracking to relieve their stiffness after centuries of being frozen in time. The feathers could remind someone of swarovski crystals with how they ate and reflected light and colors that surrounded them. The wings continued to unfurl, almost smashing into the inner hall where he stood. He sighed as they bent and stretched outwards. “So long...” He whispered, as he looked out through that skylight into the night sky. " I've been eagerly waiting." At that, he grinned and savored the cool, night air.
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Posted: Mon Jun 09, 2014 10:48 pm
Literate responders desired, no less then 3 paragraphs at a time in other words.
Please PM me if you are interested.
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Posted: Wed Jun 18, 2014 9:33 pm
"Ave Maria, gratia plena,
Dominus tecum,
benedicta tu in mulieribus,
et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus.
Sancta Maria mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.
Amen"
The 13 kingdoms of the world spanned across one large continent. It was cut up by lakes and rivers and surrounded by two vast oceans, one to the north and one to the south. For every kingdom there was a royal family, forever respected and protected. However, though unspoken of, the capital city of Constantine was home to the true ruler of the world. The face of the reigning religion, Pope Augustine, had decided for the past seventy-seven years which nations would war against the others and which ones would make allies of each other. Chosen at the young age of 15 shortly after the death of Pope Vincent, the world's nations ran independently before he could realize the extend of his power. War raged and several assassination attempts hardened his outlook on life. After 4 years of dedicating himself to scripture, the young pope abandoned his fear, turned to his advisers, and gave his first order. "Deploy the army. We will create peace between these nations at once." It was his most proud moment and 3 years later peace reigned over the 13 nations: Constantine, Sabbia, Mistmore, Zaprine, Ephesius, Monte, Ombra, Corren, Pasak, Neve, Lignum, Xollo, and Yoon. However, now there was chaos. The nation of Constantine gathered its holy armies and attacked its neighboring nations. No nation alone could stand against the power that the holy army possessed. Their numbers were endless, their abilities not well understood. If only the remaining powers that be could stand together as one to defend against what would surely consume them.
In the dreams of a nun lived the souls of the dead and each night they came to her for solace and forgiveness. Some would speak of the families they left behind and others the prayers they never got to say. These heartbreaks slowly weighed down on the conscience of the young nun who had come from a family unknown. Just a small child left on the doorstep of a convent, the blond haired purity lived a life entirely of faith. In the morning she would often wake from a kneeling position, her lips silently finishing off the rest of the prayer she had clearly begun asleep. As she walked the boundaries of her home she kept her eyes to the ground, mouthing the words of her faith. Occasionally she would raise her gaze to smile at the other nuns in the convent and eventually she began peering at the sky. In her personal turmoil she sought an answer from above. It puzzled her deeply how terrible a fate these spirits were bound to, being earthbound with so many regrets. Memories of their suffering words laced themselves within her prayers and after 10 years of silence she finally broke to say something else. "Sister Clarence", she called from the courtyard. The nun with silver waves for hair stopped at the sound of her soft voice. Fear hardened her expression as she carefully clamped the bible in her right hand shut. Things like these happened only at the beginning of difficult times and war was sprouting up among the 13 nations of the world. The nun of silence turned herself to face the one she called Sister Clarence just as she turned to face her. Wind kicked up the dust around them as the silence continued to speak. "For years I have heard the pleas of the dead. Their endless regrets weigh on my conscience, stacking upon me. I feel as though I may soon be crushed by their words." Sister Clarence just stood there, listened along, dreading the words that seemed to multiply themselves and become more urgent with time. "They come to me each night with messages for their loved ones, but I am eternally confined here." Roselia could no longer hide the truth, the truth that she had been  betraying her vow to the lord. From beneath her veil she pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I have been writing the messages down and sending them to their families, intercepting the replies before anyone could find out. It is horrible to keep secrets and sneak about. I understand..." The words caught themselves on the shame that welled up in her throat. Her fingers pierced the neatness of the letter, crumbling it a bit. "I understand if you feel betrayed. You have every right to. But...what hope is there for us if we ignore those who ask us for help? Are their intentions not pure enough? They only seek to ease the pain of their families and themselves. I pray the prayers they couldn't. It is only now that I stop to ask you these questions." A moment's pause brought tears to Sister Roselia's eyes and she continued to spill her words. "In my dreams I am praying in the chapel, reciting the hail mary over and over until I am interrupted by the dead. And I know they are real, Sister Clarence. They are as real as our faith." Sisters passing by began to gather around the edges of the courtyard, some of their faces marred with pure horror. Others were more calm-mannered and saw this as a positive sign. To them, the holy father sent to earth a solution for the war. And yet even with ideas so black and white no one said a word. Sister Roselia brought her hands to her face and continued to weep. "They used to come one by one, but now there are thousands. Their clothes are battered and bloody. I can tell some of them have been shot and now there are children. Children come to me by the hundreds crying for their parents. They cannot understand where they are or why they are."
War had broken out between the center nation, Constantine, and the other 12 nations. Among the dead were women and children, bodies severed by swords and murdered by a single gunshot. It was a mix of old world weapons and new world inventions, partly because of the theory of their usefulness. Currently, the ammo capacity of all guns were at most 6 bullets and their firing speed barely as short as 3 seconds. Also, the production speed of such weapons was extremely slow and the faster the production the larger the margin for error. Only small, private forces with enough wealth and contacts could arm themselves properly with the; however, they too were never without swords. Sister Clarence's eyes widened in shock. How could someone so sheltered from the world speak of those who suffered fatal wounds from a technology they had never once heard of? She could no longer ignore the seriousness of Sister Roselia’s claims. The audience of nuns thickened, slowly shortening the distance between themselves and the scene. Despite this, the troubled nun continued, dropping her hands to her side and revealing a worried expression. “This morning I woke from a different dream. I was following a fallen angel to what appeared to be an abandoned cathedral. Through marble doors I witnessed a structure that lacked benches, lacked an altar, but was truly magnificent. Pillars held by angels whose appearance displayed suffering stood to defend against all forces, including time.” In an effort to stop her words the silver-haired nun stepped forward and embraced her fellow believer, pressing her face against her clothing. Sister Roselia shoved the nun away, stumbling backwards a bit before regaining her balance. For a moment she stared at the sister in disbelief, hardly concerned with the other’s wellbeing or feelings. ”You know what I’m talking about don’t you?! That place exists doesn’t it!?” Sister Clarence remained silent, her gaze pointed towards the ground. The rest of the nuns quickly ran back to their rooms and began praying. This was enough to confirm the existence of the cathedral. Roselia, despite feeling heavily betrayed, continued on with her story. ”In the cathedral stood a horrifying statue, one of alabaster and wings and horns. It spoke to the fallen angel. It spoke of loving the fallen and taking away his pain. And do you know how he did that, Sister Clarence? Do you know how he took away the fallen’s pain?” In the heat of the moment Roselia was unaware of her surroundings. She hadn’t noticed the  approach of man with silver eyes, a calm expression, and a white cloth in his left hand slowly approaching her from behind. Men were strictly forbidden from entering the convent; however, he would be the exception made several hours earlier.
At the crack of dawn Reverend Mother Abigail rose from her bed holding onto the sight of a man riding at full speed in the darkness of a black carriage. The carriage was without decoration, a solid black wood whose windows were covered by the blackest of curtains, but whose driver's essence was far darker. In broad daylight without any regard of the summer heat it appeared to sit silently still on its thrown shrouded by a hooded cloak which could easily swallow three men whole. If flowers could respond to the presence of the carriage, the passenger, and the driver they would surely wilt before bursting into flame and falling to ashes. The Reverend Mother knew there was no avoiding this man and so she quickly dressed herself properly and made her way towards the main entrance. Upon their arrival to the convent the driver seemed to glide eerily down from its post. A hand gloved in leather came forth from its heavy black sleeve and it opened the door to release the passenger. Out of the shadow and into the light the passenger stepped forward and approached the doors of the convent towards the Reverend Mother, her hands folded neatly in front of her. It was the perfect picture of opposing forces meeting. The old woman glowed in her white uniform, dripping light in such a way you might think she could wield it against the fellow who would invade her sanctuary. And yet, maybe they had something in common as darkness lived within the wrinkles that folded in on themselves on her face. Eyes focused on the doors, she watched as he, with the force of a pouncing lion, revealed himself. Wind kicked up in response to the doors and pushed against the white cloth that seemed rather unaffected, no more stained than it did when she was honored with her position. In strangely the same way, from top to bottom he was flawless. The passenger wore a black vest with silver buttons and a white kerchief to hold the collar of his dress shirt neatly together. Upon that was a black great coat that was formfitting from the waist up and extended to his knees. Black pants reached to drown on the presence of his leather dress shoes. The buttons of his coat depicted the holy cross and his cuffs were long, rimmed and divided longways with a white stripe. It was unmistakable. He was from the capital. A cold look, enough to freeze a person even in such blistering hot weather, came down upon him from the Reverend Mother and he was dealt even colder words. "Leave, capital swine. You haven't the mind to spell business, let alone have it here. Vanish before you should have to do so with broke limbs." He nearly stepped on tail end of her words in response. "Reverend Mother Abigail. You would do well to understand the graveness of the situation as soon you will have the stigmata on your hands. Wouldn't it simply just be best to hand her over to me before the other nuns see or, much worse, someone with fouler intentions arrives?" Stigmata...even to those without knowledge of its power could understand the value of such a priceless commodity. The black market would hear of it and search for it. Days, maybe weeks might go bye that they could keep the secret, but eventually it would get out and everyone in the convent would become a target. The Reverend Mother gripped her hands together, the only physical sign of her struggle for containment of the rage she felt. This man was arrogantly suggesting his coming was some sort of a justice, that handing him what he wanted was more of a sacrifice for him than it was for her. To hand over Sister Roselia to him would torture her until death, but how many days did she really have left and was it worth damaging the people she stood to guide and keep safe? The odds of the future weighed down on her conscience and for the first time in her entire existence she truly contemplated the idea of sending one of her children to, what she could only conceive as being, the slaughter. In her memory she watched the silent nun move peacefully about her sanctuary, but then remembered the fire that burned beneath the surface. Sister Roselia, unable to express herself verbally, seemed to have to manage herself from within and for many years she had built a fire of passion for justice. The Reverend Mother was sure she would not go down without a fight and this brought some comfort to her. A smile smoothed her expression and she said her final words to him. "If you can handle her." With that she headed towards her room. Despite the way she ended the conversation, this encounter had truly tested her faith. For what reason would God place such an important chess piece in a peaceful and holy house? Reverend Mother Abigail dropped to her knees at her bedside and clasped her hands together in a prayer that would consume her for days, threatening her wellbeing. Would she return in time to save herself?
Sister Clarence turned quickly on her heels and began walking away. The man that approached Roselia gave her an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even as she fed her fellow sister to the dog she couldn't bare to look. She didn’t want to see what would come of Roselia, who quickly followed after her, screaming at the top of her lungs. “He reached out to the fallen angel with his claws and reduced him to a pile of ash! The statue, once carved of alabaster, was now made of flesh! Wings crafted from the heavens stretched from behind him and shimmered!” In anger, she reached out and pulled Sister Clarence to a halt, but she refused to turn and look at her. The man who had also been following stood still and watched. Tears once again returned to Roselia’s face as she spoke the last clear words she could muster. ”Tell me, Sister Clarence. Where is the cathedral?” And with that the man from behind pulled Sister Roselia into a tight embrace and placed the cloth over her mouth and nose. A deep breathe accompanied her surprise, which was followed by a blood curdling scream of fear, anger, and betrayal. She knew now why Sister Clarence wouldn't look back at her. And how else would she know of such a person without being told of it by the Reverend Mother who must have given such a vile creature permission to enter. The captured nun struggled beneath the passenger's grasp, hating the heat of his body that burned hotter that the midday sun and violated her values. Her hands reached up to pull the cloth away from her face, but he was much too strong, and so she continued on stomping at his feet and clawing at his fingers. A sweet smell filled her senses and she felt her focus drifting off. She watched helplessly as Sister Clarence simply walked away from the situation like it was none of her business. Abandoned and pained the nun gave in for the moment and fell unconscious. Sister Clarence returned to her room she prayed just as the Revered Mother did, not noticing the blood around her wrist from the silent nun's grasp. The man, his identity largely unknown, removed the leather backed cloth from her face and laid her face up on the ground. For a moment he inspected his wounds, which were nail deep across the backs of his hands. It was admirable to him how hard she fought and he understood what the Reverend Mother meant by, "If you can handle her." Folding the leather backed cloth in on itself he placed it in his right coat pocket before picking the young woman up from the ground and carrying her out of the convent and into a carriage that awaited him at the front gate. They would travel at full speed towards the cathedral, but would eventually have to continue on horseback. The nation had destroyed all of the roads that led there, planting trees and even placing boulders in the way. This had been for hundreds of years and for hundreds of years they would try their best to make the people forget about it. Those who happened upon it would be murdered and buried in the cemetery behind the structure and after hundreds of deaths the rumor that demons lived in the forest finally stuck. Towns relocated themselves and soon after it was largely forgotten what lived behind the trees, except by those in the convent. In fact, it was the only building that hadn't been relocated. The reason behind this, unknown, and anyone who tried to investigate it was also buried behind the cathedral.
 The closer the sister came to the cathedral the more she bled from her hands, feet, and forehead. These wounds were without question stigmata and would be hidden from the public at all cost. It seemed this man's purpose to make it so. No one would know the reason behind the catastrophe that would begin across the 13 nations of the world. It would simply die off in this attempt. At the edge of the forest the shadow driver unhitched one of the horses from the carriage. It was a dark brown steed, quite muscular. It seemed capable enough to manage through the only thing that stood between them and their destination. In the darkness of the carriage Sister Roselia awakened and tried to look about. "So much darkness", she thought. It was high noon when she questioned Sister Clarence in the courtyard. Through the fuzzy remnants of her memory she remembered a soaked cloth backed with leather slammed against her breathing passages. A sweet smell, none other than chloroform, invaded her. Somewhat dizzy, she laid there absorbing the sensations of her surroundings. She could hear the breathing of someone across from her and before she could ask who was there the door to the carriage was pulled open and the sun blinded her. The capital man noticed her shut eyes and quickly bit off the glass stopper of a little clear bottle and doused his cloth with its contents. Not so easily as the first time he forced his hand upon her face. Sister Roselia moved away, but with her head like a lead weight, she simply tossed herself through the door on the other side and crashed into the dusty ground. A look that could only be described as 'impressed' painted the capital man's expression as he stepped down through the door she had busted open. Roselia tried desperately to get her head from the ground and onto her shoulders, but the weight was too much alone and even as she tried to hold her head up she lost her balance and crumbled to the ground. Choking on the dust that filled her lungs as she hyperventilated in panic, she laid on her back clutching her chest with one hand and batting away her hair to see the predator that stood watching. Interestingly enough, as hard as she breathed she was pushing whatever that remained in her lungs that disabled her out and the heaviness of her skull began to fade. To buy time she questioned him, coughing between words. "N-no. I refuse to fall for that again. Tell me your na-me and the reason for w-hich you have brought me to...where are-we?" Ignoring her words the man from the capital approached her without hesitation, his hand readied to repeat the process. The nun attempted to kick him away, but as a snake strikes its prey, there was no avoiding the lightening reach of the hand that dealt her involuntary sleep again. In a last ditch effort she took one good swing at his face, marring him painfully with her nails as they dug into his flesh and pulled it across his face. As she faded she noticed a bit of shock on his expression, like he hadn't quite expected such a bold and bloody move from a nun. She hadn't noticed yet the blood on her hand, mistaking its source for his face. When she was finally out the capital man pulled back the cloth from her face and observed her peacefulness for a moment. He wondered slightly how someone like her could manage her fated task. And in the few half minutes he wasted motionless the capital man snapped his fingers twice and looked in the direction of his transportation. The dark brown horse walked over, now adorned with a black leather saddle, and laid down so that he could place the nun on the horse before climbing on himself and being lifted to riding level. The carriage driver pulled back several pieces of nature to reveal a well carved path wide enough to ride full speed a long. It was one of two passages to the center left behind by the capital in case of such a circumstance. Without another moment waste, they were off down the passage. With such an irresponsibly large dosage the man from the capital wondered if she would even awaken in time to see the cathedral, let alone face the one inside it.
Clearing the trees he could now see the cathedral. A weight of uncertainty sat upon his mind as he hastened his steed to a faster pace. A mere mile from the cathedral he met an unseen barrier and was smacked from his horse. In the collision Sister Roselia was brought back to consciousness and, faster than she could understand, she gripped the reins of her steed and commanded it to halt. The man who was thrown tumbled on the ground a bit before pulling himself from the ground and calling out to the sister. "My name is Elijah Belial!" In the little time they spent together he felt slightly guilty for sending her off to what could be her death. Telling her his name, the last question she had yet an answer to, was the only thing he could give her before she would potentially be eaten alive. After that he laid back on the ground and experienced the pain that was waiting for him. Sister Roselia looked back to him quite astonished. An aching pain rippled from her wounds and as she touched her forehead she thought to herself. Belial? What is going on? Curiosity pulled her hand into view revealing the blood that had been dripping from her since the convent. "Blood!" Fear chilled her to the bone. Was it her blood? Was it his blood? Had she killed someone or did someone try to kill her? Pain quickly lead her to the realization that she was bleeding from more than one part of her body. "Stigmata..." A calmness settled over her and she began to understand her purpose her purpose in life. From the corner of her vision she noted the cathedral, turning her full attention to it and who she might find there. Faith hardened her decision to proceed and so Sister Roselia directed her steed towards the cathedral. If the lord planned for her to die, then so be it, and if the lord planned her to halt the madness...so be it as well. In walking distance of the cathedral she dismounted, saying farewell to the horse before moving on. Experiencing pain with each step, she made her way to the entrance and dropped to her knees. Taking a moments rest she listened to what she thought was silence. Instead they were words she had heard before. "I will give you solace and sweet dreams. I won't lie to you. I will love you deeper than anyone could. But I need you to do something for me- I need you to agree to let me love you. To free you from pain." As she looked in she saw the fallen angel approaching the alabaster statue without hesitation. The pain she was feeling vanished and a sense of urgency and panic filled her chest, but she was frozen. What was holding her back from changing the fallen angel's fate? In her mind she begged for the strength to pause before what would surely happen next. "Yes. Yes to whatever you need to release me. It hurts. It hurts so much. I did nothing wrong.” It would be too late. The nun could only watch as the fallen angel surrendered his existence. Sorrow threatened to overcome her as she rose to her feet, witnessing the blood tears of pillar angels. And though it was dark outside the newly acquired wings of the thief dared to sparkle still.
From the cover of the doorway, Sister Roselia stepped into full view and slowly made her way in his direction. A disgusted look oozed over her face. It was even more heinous than in her dream. "Who are you to take the life of a fallen angel in return for your own wings?" Blood dripped from beneath her veil and down her face, traveled to tips of her fingers, and clearly marked each step she took in his direction. It was flowing more freely now and it was rising in temperature. "Do you believe you deserve them? Does the despicable creature think he deserves his own wings?!" She knew nothing of the pile of ash, but was far more offended than when she realized the people she had been living among her entire life had betrayed her. Just a handful of meters away, Roselia stopped and scanned the pillar angels before snapping her eyes back to the winged being. "Is this your doing?!" An involuntary pause came over her and instead of yelling enraged she began to truly inquire, ready to listen to the answers that might follow. Pulling back a hand as if to throw a baseball of blood, Sister Roselia threatened him. "Speak demon before I throw at you what I hope will burn you and cause you unbearable suffering." Hail Mary, full of grace,
our Lord is with thee,
blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners, now, and in
the hour of our death.
Amen.
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