Celestial Worlds

Chapter Thirty-five

“Y-You’re a D-Demon?” I whisper.

    I’m terrified now, the most terrified in my entire life. The moment I heard the ripping sound of fabric, I knew this is bad. But it wasn’t that bad, it was worse. He can’t be a Demon. Please don’t ever be a Demon. My hand is at my mouth and my eyes are blinking fast, I’m backing away, backing away from this horrible, horrible truth.

    And now I wish, I wish he had spared me a lie.

    I bump my frame to a tree and I know I can’t go anywhere else, because I can’t escape this. I can never escape the truth.

    Jonathan flies over and lands in front of me with a loud and windy thud. The fallen leaves rustling to different directions and stray dirt cover most of my sane vision.

    What I can’t place are his eyes.

    They’re scorching red.

    Then realization hits me: when we fight, I always see something in his eyes flicker. That twitch I can’t miss in his irises.

    He’s looking at me a bit smug but I cannot mistake the nervousness in his eyes. He sits down under the tree, beside my legs and he folds his knees close to his chest. He folds his wings, but they’re still there, still glowering. Like any second they can strangle you and get away with it. I sit beside him too, keeping about two feet of space. He looks back at the dock with sad eyes.

    “I prefer Nephilim,” he says quietly.

    Nephilim. Offspring of the Sons of God and the Daughters of Men.

    Here’s one thing I noticed, but not earlier. I‘ve noticed it just now, the moonlight completely shining on his whole frame.

    His wings aren’t webbed and bat-like like the Demons I knew and the Demons I’ve seen. His wings are like an Angel’s. But black. Charcoal black, like a Demon’s but soft and feathery like an Angel's.

    “You’re one of the Fallen,” I whisper, keeping my eyes straight on my feet.

    He looks at me so fast, I’m terrified if he broke a bone in his neck. His eyes contain the emotion of confusion and surprise. “Y-You know about the Fallen?” he asks quietly, like he can’t believe I’m actually not freaking out.

    I turn to him and nod sadly. I want so bad to tell him. But why can’t I? We’re the same. What am I so afraid of?

    “H-How do you know about us?” he asks, fascinated.

    I look at him again, with hesitating eyes. Should I tell him? I want him to know, because I want him to understand me too. I want us to understand each other.

    I bite my lip.

   And open my wings.