Stygiophobia

Sweet like silk

When George finally opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a pitch black room. The only light he could see was from the crack under the door.

When he realized he wasn't in the heavens anymore, and the memories of the day before came crashing down on him, he began to cry just as hard as he did when he was falling.

Dream had heard the incessant sobs from halfway across his mansion, but instead of getting up to get the damned angel to be quiet, he figured he would stop and fall asleep sooner or later.

A week. It's been a week. The angel hadn't slept once, and cried the entire damn time. Dream could barely sleep, he could barely even think with the constant weeping. And when he wasn't crying, he was praying. You can imagine the annoyance of a demon having to listen to prayers from a fallen angel and the nonstop crying in his own home.

"He cut my wings! My angel wings, I can't fly back to the lord! My wings!" Dream heard the angel scream through sobs from across the house. The only moment George hadn't cried was when he had passed out on the day of his arrival. "My wings!" George screeched again, struggling to breathe, shaking and resisting the urge to vomit.

Dream had enough. He stormed across his house to the angels room. "Can you shut the fuck up!?" Dream shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing open the door to the small, empty room. George shuffled into the back corner, kicking his bare feet trying to move back as fast as possible. He stared back at Dream, eyes blown wide, tears still streaming down his face. He looked terrified, to say the least.

The angel remained silent, unmoving, except for his heaving chest. "Thank you. God." Dream sneered the last word, turning to leave. Before he had the chance to shut the door, the angel started weeping again. This time, when Dream turned around to shout again, he saw George sitting back on his knees, hands in front of his mouth pressed together. Is he seriously praying?

The angel, with tears still streaming, was praying. His head bound downwards, quiet mumbles escaping his throat. Dream could hardly make out any of the words the angel was saying.

"Lord I repent my sins. For I repent my sins against Leviticus eighteen, against the holy bible, the soul word of god, my lord, my creator. Against the holy Catholic Church, against the founding father, and his only son. My lord and saviour, I do repent. For I repent homosexuality, my lord. Forgive my sins, my lord, I repent. Please lord, take me home." George repeated over and over again, Dream barely able to make out the words. He thanked his demonic gifts for being able to hear.

"Oh, so he's gay? That's really the reason he's down here?" Dream thought to himself.

After long minutes of Dream listening, and George praying, the pure began to sob again, pushing himself to fall backwards against the wall. Once again, covering his eyes with his small, pale hands, crying into his skin.

"He won't answer me." The angel cried even harder, wrenching forward every time he tried to breathe. He couldn't stop weeping.

Dream grew more annoyed with the angel after that line. The o' so wonderful lord really decided to cut the angels wings because he was gay? That hardly seemed fair to him. Clearly the angel doesn't want to be a sinner, he looked pure, and he was innocent. A complete contrast to the demon himself. Dream started to think he was doing the angel a favour by keeping him here with him, instead of back with the lord.

Perhaps he was trying to justify forcing sins onto the angel.

"You know what? Who cares!? He threw you away for a reason." Dream said in a fit of frustration. He was aware it would hurt the angel deep down in his heart, but he couldn't give a damn. He was already previously annoyed by the crying twenty-four-seven.