Fallen Angel

Chapter 1.1

The Archangel stood at the top of the Castel Sant' Angelo. It was early morning. The sun rose in the east, letting the most beautiful play of colours dance on his face. His eyes were the shade of bright lapis lazuli, and his hair, a fair chestnut in the golden dawn, blew softly in the morning breeze.
The birds sang their songs, and the river pounded gently against the pillars of the bridge connecting the ancient fortress to the Vatican. Once a safe refuge for the Pope when the city of Rome was under attack, now a tourist attraction. And a popular one, at that. The only thing keeping the mortals from seeing the actual angels among the stone ones when they gathered here was the illusion magic hidden within the heart of the grand citadel.

The Archangel inhaled the fresh morning air. His eyes travelled down to the empty streets. It seemed a sunrise was no longer valued by humans, perhaps because it happened every day. And because they valued their sleep. Where was the time when people stood in their fields and stopped work to look upon what the Lord had made for them? Fields were disappearing now. So were forests and lakes. Even mountains and glaciers were crumbling.
Humans thought they could do better. Although he had to admit, they persevered, and they tried. But it was all work. What about simply standing still and listening? What about looking past the end of their nose? No one did that anymore.

"Enjoying the sunrise, Gabriël?"

Gabriël blinked away his thoughts and turned at the sound of the familiar voice. At the base of the grand statue of Saint Michael stood the man himself, looking rather grim. Of the two, Michael was the fairer one, with blond hair and blue-grey eyes. Not to mention his muscles from combat training. And being almost a head taller also helped.
Though they supported each other in the hierarchy, Michael was the leader, the Lord Protector of the Heavens. He never let an opportunity go by to remind everyone of the fact. Gabriël wondered why he had bothered to descend from their home. Though, he could guess.

"As a matter of fact, I was contemplating mankind," he replied calmly.

"Again?" Michael rolled his eyes. "You know there is no point in trying to understand them. I stopped about two hundred years ago."

"Come now, Michael. Did our Lord not create the humans after His image?"

"And look at how far they have come. Are they still in His image?"

Gabriël gave his friend an annoyed look before averting to gaze once more at the rising sun.

"You should not speak like that, Michael."

"He knows there is truth in my words, as do the others. I believed you did as well?"

"I do, yet it is not so for all humans. As you well know. It is just their misfortune that -"

"Their misfortune that His wisdom and grace do not reach all," finished Michael.

One more, Gabriël gave in to irritation, lips pursing into a thin line. They had discussed this a hundred, if not a thousand, times before, yet his friend still couldn't see the potential. He could be narrow-minded sometimes.

"Why are you here, Michael?" asked Gabriël. "You rarely come down to Earth, and the others only do so when you command them. As God's Messenger, I have no other option but to constantly travel up and down to connect with the chosen ones. But you only leave the Heavens if there is a battle, a problem or by command of our Lord. So, which is it?"

"I forgot how well you know me." Michael chuckled. "You are right, of course. A problem this time. A recurring one, actually."

Gabriël waited with bated breath. He fervently prayed it wasn't who he thought it was.

"Joan."

He groaned silently as Michael said the name. Joan... again. Why didn't it surprise him? Who else would cause a problem? And naturally, Michael wanted Gabriël to take care of said problem. For where Michael had the looks, Gabriël had the charms. And it was precisely those charms Michael came to appeal to, yet again.