Chapter 1
The wind, like Azriel who was standing on the edge of a skyscraper, was free and with no permanent destination. His face, half-hidden by his cloak, conveyed a mask of mixed obscurity and indifference. He looked up to see the looming moon veiled as well with enigma and silence. His eyes shone with pulchritudinous brutality for which he was known; the very eyes that made other heavenly beings evade him.
Footsteps announced another being.
He did not look; he knew who it was.
"Practising truancy, eh." It was Althea. Her full feminine voice made the evening warm, like glowing ember.
The man did not answer. He continued peering at the moon. Then, it seemed as if his glance grew heavier, he focused it on the city.
Althea walked to the edge of the building. Now, she was adjacent to the young man. "Don't tell me you're still contemplating. It won't get you far."
"Maybe. That is if I'm an absurdist. But you know better than that." His voice was as cold as ice. It carried a silent command of respect, something he would not entreat yet was given to him.
"Divert from your existentialist route. You're no mortal. There is no room for agnosticism amongst angels. All you have to do is to blindly comply."
He sneered; even though it did not carry a spark of a smile, it seemed it had. "Do you think questioning is transgression? It is only associated with doubt because it opposes the very meaning of faith."
"So, what do you think is the thread that connects us to the higher-up? Love? Fear? Depth of gratitude?"
"You know better than that. It's all of them or nothing at all. Having no reason is as good as having one."
"I thought you're no absurdist?" She snapped, giving a little spark of light to their conversation.
He spread his wings, the black wings of quietus, and took flight towards the moon.
Althea smiled.
Azriel witnessed all kinds of death: from the most peaceful to the most bestial. He had done it all. It was not to say he was remorseless, but it was nothing short of a routine. No passion was involved in all of this. He accepted his fate; acceptance is surrender.
Being one of the seven archangels, he had a power coveted by other heavenly beings: he had the ability of annihilating an immortal, to deprive a heavenly being of life. Quite ironic but that was the veracity. However, he never used it against another angel. He had a sense of valuing life—even though it was another unexplored part of him.
It all seemed so monotonous for the angel of death, an obdurate existence to remind man of his failure to life, of his sins. Every day is a walk into the night; every night into the day.
Until he had met Louise Soulacroix. He lived a brand new life after Azriel had postponed her death. He saw something in her two-coloured eyes: meaning. The search did not come to a halt, it just began a new chapter. The walk, a tiring travel, was illuminated by hope. He was not certain what it was—he did not inquire—but it changed him.
Louise Soulacroix's hair danced with her as she, too, danced with some little children. Laughter betrayed a dying past. Now, she was more alive. Sunlight conspired with her aura, corroborating its vividness.
