The moon hung low, the pallid glow dripping from its leering disc onto the carpet of mist below. An undulating blanket of white wisps, unbroken save by crumbling headstones lay over the lowland fen. The swap had crawled and conquered, ever so slowly, until it held all the land under its sway. A lush overgrowth of vines and creepers snaked along a low brick wall and mangrove-like trees twisted through the forgotten remnants of civilization. Amongst the slime and weathered stone rose the stone likeness of an angel, its wings chipped and worn, and its lips split into an odd grimace.
It took place slowly, almost as if the fog machine had been turned off. The thick fog thinned and parted, clambering past and sinking into ivy-encrusted grave markers and rotting fence posts. The slow, ominous clicking of the cicadas had quietened - a lull had come into the nightly activities of the graveyard.
All at once, the tarn rippled, and a skeletal hand the color of soot rose from within its fathomless recesses. The palm spread out, rotting fingernails glistening in the ghostly light, raised in mock blessing to the angelic figure before it. The hand made for and grasped the pedestal and heaved the rest of itself out of the muddy water, followed by an arm that was all skin and bone. The figure which sat by the angel was not unlike a human child, its hollow black eyes unblinking and its emaciation cloaked in thick black. It was clearly something that ought to have slithered up to the over world on a moonless night.
The creature shivered, shaking the weeds and mud off of its long, wiry grey hair. It looked up at the serene figure before it, and began to climb. Using its hands and feet, it clambered up the statue, breaking off the wings along the way, which sunk into the darkness below. It perched atop the grey vastness of the angel's scalp and stared, unblinking at the coal black sky.
The moonlight brought out in sharp relief, the various furrows and grooves in its verminous face - a lump of grey with broken nose and sewn lips. Vast folds of skin hung off its shoulder blades, in mocking semblance to the figure atop it now rested. The originality of night had careened into mockery and parallels.
With difficulty, and dexterous fingers, the creature prised open its mouth and rasped, "At last." Its voice was akin to the wind that snakes through the boughs of a certain flowering tree, black flowered and terribly old(Note to self: Elaborate later/in another narrative).
"You wish to know what I am?", it said to nothing in particular, though the stars dimmed quite unmistakably, veiling their light in seeming shame, "I will tell you what I am."
"I begin at the very beginning, as all tales should- In the darkness, when there was neither light, nor sound, nor sensation, I beheld the mouth that spoke the seven words and watched as the phoenix sped through the blackness, bringing with it fire and light and warmth. I was but a child back then, whose faltering steps none so great ever guided than the hand of my creator."
"I helped lay the foundations of what men once called heaven and witnessed the shaping of the chains of predestination. I watched as possibility coalesced into a single line and pondered as it spun on a loom larger than the gods themselves. All this I have seen or done and being weary, I sought from my maker leave to rest, but for a little while. My wanton reflections and ceaseless tinkering had spent all mine energies, but it bade me wait, and I waited, in vain."
"A second time I clambered up the marble stairway, unto his Ivory Throne in the farthest reaches of Light. This time however, another sat on that throne, scepter in hand and crown on brow. The Demiurge, they called it, all fire and will and desire. 'The Emperor is elsewhere', he said to me and the heat of its smoldering gaze burnt my countenance. I fled, my beauty dimmed, and I wept silently in the Garden, and the first and only rain, and storm, void of thunder and lightning, sullied its beauty."
"And then … almost as if the bulwarks of a dam had been let open, waves of flame and brightest gold washed over me, and charred I fell from my high place. As I fell, the Demiurge grasped and clawed and wept, howling in fear and rage. 'What hast thou done?', he roared as two figures sped out from between the roots of an elm tree, rushing for the great golden gates. 'Thou hast tainted the Garden, O Firstborn, the Emperor's purest creation!' And with that I knew no more."
"I woke on a bed of warm dewy grass, my wings locked and body sore. My eyes no longer held within them the promise of tears and sorrow. The light of the Demiurge still blazed within the confines of my mind and pain shot through me, reigniting my fear and adding to the flames of hatred which flared to an all consuming blaze. I could no longer see the paths and doors which would take me back, nor could I conceive of any plausible reason for this. I suspect the Demiurge might have something to do with my predicament. I clambered to my feet unsteadily, and shook my wings free of the fatigue that had gripped them. All of the skin I could see, save my right hand, and my raiment were charred to a dull black, but there was nothing I could do to set them right, for the Power would no longer flow through me. Shielding my eyes from the harsh sunlight with one hand, I raised the other and through my fingers, all splayed out, looked to the panorama before me."
"I had awoken on a green hill, amidst many others, roiling off into the horizon on either side of me. Before and below me lay a rough winding path with wild briers on either side which lead down to a ramshackle settlement, of humans no doubt. Flawed as they were, I could not deny the quaint beauty they had captured in that little village on the foothills, with green all around and white, where the sheep flocked."
"I trudged downhill with difficulty, for my feet were un-sandaled and half burnt, all raw red and black, and as I walked, time ground to a standstill. The clouds hung low, rearing into vast, oft threatening shapes. A flock of sparrows, mellow-eyed, regarded me beadily from the high branches of a nearby tree. Once, I spied a pair of eyes, brimming with morbid curiosity, peering at me from a gap in the briers. As my eyes met hers (for it was a she), they vanished and I heard scurrying and rustling, which soon faded away."
"As I came upon the village, a congregation of men and women, headed by a cassocked priest who held a rosary, had assembled by the gates. 'A grand welcome', I assumed, but I was mistaken. 'Halt', the priest intoned, 'and state thy purpose, Fallen One. If thou hast come to raise evil, the name of the Lord shall smite thee, and thou shalt flee unto the very ends…'. I did not halt, but rather I hurried, spreading out my signed wings and holding my right hand high above me, untarnished and whole. A golden bracelet glinted on my wrist, embellished with the the nine-pointed star, and that was all the impetus I needed to conjure silence. I walked up to the awestruck priest and bowed. 'I wish you no harm, good folk, of all the creations of my maker the only that have partaken of the forbidden fruit. I wish for food and lodging, such that I may heal and take flight, to reclaim my place amongst my brethren.' My words commanded respect and supernal majesty and I was given the best viands and the most luxurious lodging available, with the village healer to attend to my injuries."
"The healer was enthralled by wings, and held them in great esteem. She spent many a day inspecting them, indeed much more than she tended to my injuries. My presence notwithstanding, life carried on normally in the village, the only apparent change "