My Beautiful One

21. Eyes of the seraph

Sebastian's POV

"According to Milton, it is better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven." I mused, kneeling down next to the angel. "I think Milton was right. But then again, I was never beloved of heaven in the first place, so I could never really decide."

The angel opened its eyes and stared at me in silence. Those eyes were a deep, swirling gold with no pupil, though I could see images reflected in them, flickering in the molten depths like ripples on water. Those eyes reminded me, yet again, of Jace with his sickeningly vulnerable golden gaze. My father had always taught me that giving people power, whether that power is false or not, makes people love you. It had worked on me, and I had been so sure it would work on Jace, but then-

Nobody can love a tyrant.

Amari's words echoed through my mind, and I almost winced. Amari wasn't weak or soft or naive, and I knew that she would be hardly surprised if she saw me in this position. Those luminous turquoise eyes would pass over the ichor-smeared walls, the instruments of torture, the shackled angel with little care. Then they would come to rest on me, and I would see judgment in them. She would pierce me with her gaze, and I would feel guilt, which would be ridiculous.

Jonathan Morgenstern does not feel guilty. I reminded myself. But then another thought came to mind, and it was a bitter one. How everyone else sees it, Jonathan Morgenstern does not feel anything at all.

"That is why I needed to cause pain." I said out loud, to the angel. He stared at me with his great golden eyes, which were impassive. He didn't talk, didn't show a single emotion, so I carried on.

"All my life, I've been told that I cannot feel, that I am a demon. I may be able to bear the marks of the angels, but there has never been a moment in my life that I, Jonathan Morgenstern, have been valued by the Nephilim." I remembered Amari, the way she'd talked for hours, pouring out her soul in her despair. I'd thought that she'd come out of the experience totally vulnerable, with all her secrets turned to the world, to her captor. But it had done the opposite.

It had made her stronger, and I wanted that strength. That will. That burning soul that kept her going, even as she stared at an eternity or darkness.

So I kept talking.

"When I acted as Sebastian Verlac, they loved me. I fought with them, talked with them, ate with them, laughed with them. I liked that life, felt not just tolerated but appreciated for once. Valentine said he loved me: said that only he could love a monster. But when he saw my true colours, he hated me alright. He preferred Jace, his little angel boy with his golden hair and gentleness. Exactly the same had happened when I took down my facade of Sebastian Verlac, and now the whole Shadow World is after me. That is why I hate. That is why I fight. Why I cause pain. Why I will raise hell." I turned my gaze skyward, staring no longer at the angel, but the long, spidery cracks in the ceiling.

"I don't have a soul, planet earth?" I shouted, rage making my teeth clench and my hands curl into fists. "Then I don't have to abide by your morals. You can go down in flames, and I will watch; I will laugh. I will see God's creations scream as they burn; see them realise that I do feel. They will see that I feel, because they will see that I hate!"

My wild eyes snapped back to the angel. "You were the first to burn. You have no wings, and now you can never return to heaven." I gave a mirthless laugh, and it echoed around the stone room. "The Shadowhunters think heaven will protect them? Heaven is weak."

I looked into the eyes of the seraph, and saw my thoughts. Though the angel's face remained devoid of emotion, I saw images flash in its eyes. Burning battlefields, people crying as a city tumbled to ruin, a single bloody sword...