Harp's Song

Part VII

The day of St. Peter's welcoming ceremony dawned bright and clear. Days like these always did.

Amidst the fuss and the noise of the musician's dressing chambers, a petite blond angel stood silently, brushing gold dust into his hair.

No expression. No feeling. Just a numb, numb sense that he'd been broken, and only one other person in the universe could understand.

A gentle hand dropped to one of his shoulders, causing Harp to look up. Above him, Sitar gave an encouraging smile. As with anything Sitar seemed to do, it was infused with good nature. The sly expression would come just a moment later.

"Ready for the big day," Sitar asked, moving in alongside Harp to check his own appearance in a nearby mirror.

Sitar's words rushed past him before they'd even registered. Harp didn't respond.

For his part, Sitar glanced down, noted the stoic expression on the young angel's face. The only assumption he could make was that of nerves.

"This will be no different than any of Peter's other welcoming ceremonies, you know. The new arrivals will hardly notice we're above them," Sitar said, apparently trying to assuage any uncertainties Harp might have had. "Remember how their caretakers were joking last year that some thought music just played nonstop past Heaven's gates?" He grinned.

On any other day, Harp might have laughed, or at least smiled. Not today though. Not after last night.

That's when Sitar tried a different, slyer tactic. He moved away from the mirror, standing behind Harp. Sitar was over a head taller and, with far broader shoulders and wings as well, his entire figure framed Harp's own in the mirror they were both now standing directly in front of. Sitar raised both hands to Harp's shoulders, squeezing gently.

"Someone tells me a certain violist is using a certain harpist as her muse now and that it kept her from getting expelled."

The news caught Harp off-guard enough that his blank expression wavered, curiosity forming behind gold eyes as they began to focus for the first time that morning.

"What?"

Sitar grinned, knowing he'd successfully caught the younger angel's attention.

"Fourteenth Viola," he said, his voice back to its usual sing-song tone. "I hear tell from one of my fellow sitars that Viola thought of you during her evaluation."

Harp stared directly into Sitar's eyes via the mirror.

"So…she likes me?" His voice was soft, still holding the youthful tones of an angelic childhood that was not yet very far behind him.

Sitar shrugged. "Maybe," he said, ruffling his wings a little as he stretched out his arms and fingers. In Heaven there wasn't much of a concept of physical or emotional attraction among nameless angels, although at least some were aware of concepts such as 'like'. And 'love'. Actually acting on the feelings, however, was a privilege enjoyed by angels of higher stature alone. Those El had blessed with names and other privileges.

"It's more likely someone told her about muses and gave her a little…inspiration."

This time, Sitar did laugh, and it elicited an image in Harp's mind of someone else laughing, a human, as his face nuzzled into the crook of his lover's shoulder.

Taking a shuddering, unnecessary breath in, Harp's vision swam before him. He was going to break today, he just knew it. And then everyone would see. Everyone would know what he'd done…

A cherub approached them, fluttering about erratically near Harp's face.

"To Sorael," it chirped almost anxiously. "I am to take you to the angel Sorael."