Halo Of Horns (Discontinued)

NINETEEN

It was chaos built in swirling heat and fumes shaken from charcoal feathers. Mist sent from The Lord to mock those whose minds remained closed and their eyes blind. Left to dwell in the wickedness of the world, becoming one with its sin and thus casting themselves from the branches of God's mighty tree. And their twigs fell in their promised death to wander forever in their confusion, lost and alone. Without the spirit that tried to guide them their souls cry out in anguish.

For the Word was true and they denied it.

It was this stench of sorrow flooding the fields that overwhelmed Irina's senses and burned the hairs in her nostrils.

She burrowed herself deeper into Azazel's chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his torso. She could feel every pulse of his muscles, when his wings swooped in, encompassing her body, then folding back out.

Gliding over the tall gray grass, her dangling feet caught the flowering tops. The fibers of the tufts clung to her boots like desperate fingers, grappling for anything to escape.

Carefully, making sure his feet hit the ground first, Azazel glided them down with a tilt of his wings. Once he was certain he was secure and steady, and the weeds beneath his feet flattened, he loosed his grip. Despite her excited childlike squirming, he lowered Irina with a cautious pause.

"Don't leave my side." He instructed, squeezing her upper arm, "I'm serious."

Irina's irises shined like mini halos, wide and vibrant. Full of life. Full of light. "I won't, I promise." She assured him while sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. She swayed back and forth on her two feet, anxiously waiting for his permission to move ahead.

Azazel cupped her chin and pulled her lip from between her teeth, dragging white lines into the pink flesh, "Good." He stepped back and looked down at her hand, her fingers fidgeting at her side.

"Whoa."

He tore his gaze away and followed her awed expression into the darkness above them.

Across the misty sky, as the rain slowed upon the opening of the underworld's dawn, a white cloud drifted over the horizon. Swooping overhead, with wings of white satin, feathers trailing behind like streamers in the wind. The magnificent creature stretched its birth over the sky and circled above Irina. It sliced through the air, close enough that it snagged a silver strand of her hair in its beak.

"He's called Caladrius." Azazel explained, "He is one of the few goods in this world. He steals away sickness and heals those who need it." He didn't mention, the bird lived in the house of the Lord and was sent to disperse the sickness it steals onto sinners.

"He's beautiful," Irina whispered amazed, her wide eyes following the wondrous bird as it circled over them. Her hair billowed behind her, the colors matching the long feathers of the bird's tail.

Azazel had seen all the wonders of God. He had been among the humans upon the earth and witnessed the glory that God crafted with His mighty hands. He had been among the many angels in heaven and was himself crafted from light- from all things good, holy, and beautiful.

But this- she- was the most beautiful of them all.

For God must have caressed her face with the light of his fingers. He must have molded her features perfectly, just to entice him. To mock him. To show him purity, righteousness, and beauty that he could never again have.