Darling in the Dark: A Melizabeth Fanfiction

Chapter 15: The Kind Are the Cursed; the Cursed Are the Blessed

Mael was weak.

Of course, if anyone who was anyone would hear that, they would laugh at such blasphemy. 'I mean, c'mon!' they'd say with a ridiculing smile, 'The strongest archangel? '

'The one christened and heralded as the "Angel of Death"?!'

'Weak?!'

'Impossible!' everyone would say assuredly, a secure smile on their face as they shook their head at the foolhardiness of the assertion.

However, it was the truth; Mael was weak. To be specific, he was weak in the matters of the heart, of the soul, and of the will.

He was so weak, that when the Supreme Deity, in all of her beautiful insanity, beat her daughter and his first love, Elizabeth, all those countless times, he couldn't break free of her control over his being to do anything.

He was so weak, that when Elizabeth was cursed to return to the body of a child, to believe she was a sinner and a half-breed, and to lose her powers—all the while being tortured, having her memory wiped, and eventually isolated for the crime of loving someone she shouldn't have—he didn't do anything to free her, despite his feelings for her.

He was so weak, that when the Supreme Deity, in all of her hideous madness, used him as a hostage to ensure that Elizabeth—the woman who'd become his best friend along with his first love—he bowed out; he broke; he... submitted.

Yes, Mael, the strongest Archangel, was weak.

That was that fact that he himself acknowledged, with a heavy heart and a guilty conscious, the minute Elizabeth—the beautiful, gentle, loving Elizabeth who was too kind for her or anyone else's real good—waltzed through the doors into the throne room, her head held high, her beautiful sapphire eyes calm, and her demeanor determined, but somber. She'd never seemed so beautiful to him than in that moment.

He'd never hated himself more than at that moment.

She was shaking, trembling, her hands quivering, he could tell with his keen, amber-gold, goddess symbol adorned eyes. So why? Why was she so calm, why was she so composed, why did she look her damned mother in the eyes when she knew it would set her off?

He wanted to cry. 

He wanted to beg. 

He wanted to scream and wail and flail like a child, to make a scene, to relieve the tension inside him that pulled at his heart like the rope that held up a guillotine aimed for his trapped neck; the guillotine of guilt that had built within himself for so long.

But he was weak, and he could only watch in horrified awe as Elizabeth spoke those beautiful yet damning words while he, a prisoner in his own body, could only observe. He was nothing but a wretched peanut gallery at this point, a puppet for the Deity to use for her herself, her whims, her desires, and her pleasure.

Perhaps if she hadn't smiled, he wouldn't have agonized so much later on.

But she did.

Indeed, a radiant, beautiful smile bloomed upon Elizabeth's fine face, her pale cheeks flushing with joy and her gentle oceanic eyes glistening like the morning dew as she opened her succulent strawberry lips to torment Mael's damned weakness.

"Thank goodness that you're fine Mael. I'm relieved to see you in good health; I trust you're well, considering how you and mother are colluding faithfully? Good! That means you've survived still, I was worried I wouldn't be able to scold you to death myself!"

Believe me, he thought to himself wretchedly, I would gladly die myself if you asked me to. It's what a monster like me deserves...

The Supreme Deity's bright purple eyes narrowed considerably, her expression one of hatred and disgust at her daughter's extravagant beauty and charm; the charm that so easily swayed others when she could not, that so easily overwhelmed her own charisma like nothing. The thing she despised.