Dead Moon Chapel

thirty-eight

AN ENDLESS EXPANSE OF STARS shone down on a solemn night. A crowd had formed around the Chapel, frantic and desperate to observe the state of the devastated arena. They couldn't see much from here, as the arena was tucked back behind the main building of the Chapel. But still, the tall tower where the rose window once glistened was gone, and the whole city heard the impact as the stone gave way to the quakes.

Their scattered murmuring came to a halt when the main entrance of the Chapel opened with a long, heavy groan. Every breath was held in suspense, anticipating who might emerge from that door. Did they come bearing news? Would they finally know what happened in that arena that caused it to fall?

Alas, it was no priest, no bishop, nor even a Saint who emerged from the large wooden doors. No one to tell them what happened, no one who would speak to them and answer their burning questions. But perhaps the more quick-minded among them would put the pieces together when they saw who did emerge.

Stepping out onto the stone steps was a weeping demon. His red skin glowed beneath the light of the moon, while the black wings stretching out from his back absorbed it. The demon himself was a shocking sight to see, but the sight of him was nothing compared to what he held in his arms.

A single sharp, horrified gasp cut through the thick silence. For in the demon's arms, he held the body of his angel.

Blood soaked through the front of the angel's white clothes and stained the ends of his hair. His feathered wings were limp and dragging on the floor, his arm hanging down, swaying with every step the demon took.

No one spoke a word. No one moved an inch. No one tried to stop him. All they did was watch as a demon carried an angel down the steps of the Chapel, taking his body to be cared for. To make sure that none of those holy bastards would ever desecrate such a beautiful creature again.