Dahlia - The Velvet Witch and Her Dark Spirit

PART 13 - AN ANGEL IS BORN

The events of the last few days have thrown me from sanity. The Esbat revealed the true extent of Dahlia's majesty. I no longer saw her as a mortal but as a Goddess walking amongst humans. And I still had no idea where the limits of her power lay or why she couldn't use them to destroy her Dark Spirit.

I ask her point-blank as we laze on the couch.

"Only a spirit can destroy another spirit," she says, sitting up from her pillow and staring at her hands.

"But what about the werewolf then?"

"You can destroy the body that's being possessed, but that doesn't kill the Spirit. That's the irony of this war. I'd have to die and become a spirit to be on a level playing field with him."

Her existence is doomed. She lifts up sorrowfully, drops into my lap and curls into a ball.

"How are you feeling?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Weak. Sore."

"Is it always like this after you perform that ceremony?"

"No, I went too far. I've never fallen like that. It was a huge evocation. Did you see how many spirits were there?" she asks proudly.

"I did. It was incredible."

She winces as she moves. I shuffle over, and we spoon each other to sleep. Fruity nightmares come thick and fast.

In one, an angel's wings beat with majestic recoil as she hovers above the ground. Her white gown is cinched around her waist by a belt adorned with gemstones. She's brandishing a pair of daggers with hooking blades that glisten as they turn under the glowing red light. The angel, of course, is Dahlia.

She's facing off against an evil beast, dragon-like and fuming with menace. His face is a mangled mess of raw flesh, dripping with puss and covered in battle scars. Huge talon-like teeth stretch out horizontally from the creature's hideous face. His eyes are bloodshot and ready to pop. A pair of horns spiral up from his skull and come to piercing points. The beast wails like a bore and belches flames with each breath.

The two foes circle each other at the entrance to a cave glowing red with fire. Flames lick out and singe the two combatants, but their dangers are far more immediate than scorched skin and feathers.

"Join me, angel," the beast says, trying to circle behind the heavenly bird. "You know you belong here."

"Never," Dahlia cries.

She swoops forward, leading with her blades and strikes its belly. The beast reels back in pain before righting itself for another standoff.

I sit up with a start.

"You were an angel," I mumble.

My groggy eyes open, and see that Dahlia has left. As I lay down, a note crunches under my shoulder, handwritten in exquisite cursive.

"Work beckons. Be back in a few hours. X"

I get up and set the coffee pot. It brews steadily, filling the room with the aromatic scent of Arabica beans. I slink to my desk with the black nectar and stare at the white canvas on the easel. The blankness fills me with excitement and an overwhelming urge to bring the dream to life. And before I realise it, I'm sketching out a set of wings, and just like that, an Angel is born.

Flow finds me fast as my mind leaps onto canvas. I work until the vision is real. My raging angel and her foe are alive and engaged in a deadly battle, making the whole thing a haunting echo of the dream.

It's been eight hours without a coffee break, and I'm shivering. The fire has burnt down to a few sorry embers. Long slivers of frost have formed on the windows. I smile because I'm finally on the far side of that infernal artistic wasteland.