The Exiled Angel

FOREWORD

                                                                               DEDICATION

To him
For whom I crossed the threshold of the
world of magic and who made me believe in the rule that
"Love can only be perfected in pain."

                                                            

SEPHANIE

I stood up from the mess of scattered books, papers and review drafts and rubbed my temples. I checked the time; 3:08 am. I decided I'd stayed up late enough and that it was time to wrap things up and go to sleep. I cleaned up and changed into a comfortable t-shirt, then brushed and switched off the lights. Getting into my bed, I turned off the warm glow of my bedside lamp. I listened to the usual noises of the night on my street as I drifted off to a slumber. Just then, I heard a low noise, like a groan. Perhaps a cat, I thought and let it go. Then again. This time it was louder as if coming from some injured animal. Despite all my efforts to stay put, I couldn't help but peek from my window. As I did, I saw a hunched figure in the shadows. A homeless person? A beggar? I noticed that the man, as the figure turned out to be, was wearing something between a robe and a cloak but not quite. I watched as the man stumbled into light and saw, to my horror, blood. Almost instinctively, I jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs, calling myself an idiot for stepping out of the house at such a time. I opened the front door, ran out and unlocked the gate. I stepped out cautiously and spoke, still wary of the stranger.

"Excuse me? Are you hurt?"

Stupid question; there was blood all over his cloak-like robe and blotches of red on the pavement around him. The guy leaned on the light pole in attempts to stay upright. Then, in a low hoarse voice scratched with pain, he rasped.

"Please."

I moved hurriedly and slowly placed his arm over my shoulder and helped him into my house. His blood stained my pathway all up to the front door then, as I brought him in, staining my floor and carpet. I didn't acknowledge it as I aided the man on to the couch. His arm slipped off my shoulder, limp and I almost feared he were dead but his chest still rose and fell, though barely noticeable. I ran to my closet and grabbed the first aid kit, hurried to the kitchen and warmed water and rushed back to the man. I knelt down in front of him and spoke gently.

"I'll have to clean the wound." I moved closer and helped him remove the cloak. The blood was obviously pooling from his chest, dyeing his black shirt an even darker shade, but confusingly, there wasn't a tear in the shirt he wore. I ignored it. He did not protest as I unbuttoned his flannel shirt and stifled a gasp as I saw a grotesque gash across his dark, broad chest. I tenderly cleaned the cut, yet the blood kept flowing. It was probably too deep and required stitches. The stranger, with his bizarre black outfit and wild black hair shuddered slightly and whispered something.

"Sorry?"

"Rose...water..."

I was bewildered. I bring in a bleeding guy in the middle of the night and he asks for rosewater. Annoyed yet sympathetic, I spoke.

"Why do you need that? Stay here. I'm gonna ring for an ambulance."

I started getting up when the stranger leaned forward suddenly and grabbed my wrist. Jerking me down swiftly, he looked me straight in the eye. His eyes were black with an extraordinary royal blue ring around the iris. In a flash, they shifted and I was staring at two black pits, no pupils. I gasped, terrified and wrenched my hand away. Instantly, his eyes changed back, pleading.