Pomegranate Seeds ~ Editing in Progress

Chapter X

AUTHOR'S NOTE: One of my longer chapters, unless I am mistaken. This has been snagged in the back of my brain for eons, and I'd written snatches of it, and a few drafts, but eventually I decided just to get it written. So I did. I did actually proof-read this time, but I still may have missed something, so feel free to point any mistakes out.

He is angry with me. More than angry. Furious.

I can feel the wrath radiating off Him in burning waves of thermal energy.

The flames, normally confined to licking greedily at the edges of His fathomless pupils, have engulfed His eyes, blazing with an uncontrollable, yet concentrated, chagrin.

His hands find my face and steer it roughly to the side. In spite of the disrespectful connotations associated with the action, I find curious, animated sensations rushing up and down my spine. I do not feel the crude, brutal fist bruising my jaw. Instead I feel it as an action of love; gentle, affectionate fingers caressing the contours of my face. I close my eyes and allow my imagination to run free.

I am a fool.

The pressure of His thumbs ruthlessly tearing apart my eyelids mercilessly drags me from my haven, forcing me to behold what he intended.

I see.

I begin scream, but His hand instantly moves to my mouth, muting me. The fire seems to shoot from His eyes, alighting the pyre in a moment. If only the rest were as instantaneous.

It is a long and pain-staking process. I witness Titus straining and writing beneath the bonds securing him to the stake. The flames surround him, growing higher and higher. Perspiration trickles down his face in ceaseless waterfalls. Blisters and calluses break out all over his body. His features are contorted in agony as angry red welts appear in his arms. Charred, black flesh crumbles from his bones as the scorching heat envelopes him.

The last things I see are his eyes, staring straight at me.

I wake up screaming; a long piercing noise that leaves me gasping for breath. Then comes the hysteria, and I recline helplessly in the unfamiliar bed, choking back the endless sobs, and blinking away ceaseless tears for what seems like eons. Eventually I find myself quietening, and I lie back, exhausted by my fit. My head sinks into the depths of the enveloping down pillow, and it welcomes my fatigue with the softest of feather-kisses. Flashes of the nightmare replay in my mind. They are merely motionless freeze-frames, blindingly bright and colourful.

But the emotions are real.

Each flash is unbearably painful, as I fight through the burning passion, the terror, the despair and, most sharp and real of all, the irrevocable guilt.

It is while before I can muster the strength to survey my surroundings. Even when I finally pluck up the willpower to do so, I stare blankly at them for a few seconds; scarcely knowing, scarcely caring. Then I remember, remember it all in the midst of my sleep-bleared confusion.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the barely distinguishable silhouette or outline of a person. As it moves closer it grows in distinctness, until finally I can see it in all its glory. It is the figure of a woman, a woman in possession of such beauty and grace that she seems to shine with her own personal radiance. Her hair is loosely dressed, held back from her face by the tiniest of pearl pins to cascade in a soft shower of golden waves and ringlets to her waist. She is clad simply in a rose-tinted gown of moonlight silk. It flows over her generous bust, emphasised by her narrow waist and skims her curvaceous hips. Her face, however, is the loveliest of all; full rosebud lips that offer smiles in abundance, eyes the colour of heather on a misty moor, glowing and tranquil. But it is none of these that hold my gaze.

It is the wings, great feathery shields that protrude from her shoulder blades in mass of black and gold, and finally end, skimming the floor in their wake.

“Lilith.” She looks straight at me, and I duck my head, not wanting to be drawn into the smoky depths of her eyes.

“Cassiel…?” I venture tentatively, although there is no doubt in my mind.

She nods, then smiles sadly at the bemused expression on my face.

“I know you.” It is a curious statement. I merely stare blankly back at her, confused and seeking guidance.

“We are the same you and me. Both outcasts. Both rejected lovers.” She bestows me with the sweetest of melancholy smiles. “Titus. Surely you must have realised by now? He is impossible to resist. Even I, one of the holiest of all, could not withstand his charms. It is a curse for Titus too, of course. Sentenced to break the heart of every girl he encounters. His worst nightmare. I think that’s partly why he retreated to a monastery. It gave him an excuse. That, and the pursuit of scholarship that ensued. It was the best place for him. He was happy – or at least as happy as a man of his intellectual brilliance can ever be.” She pauses briefly, and swallows. “It was me who destroyed his happiness. I didn’t mean to, honestly I did not. I was selfish and infatuated, but I did think I could I could make him happy. I was an angel afterall. What man could resist me?”

“You’re an angel…?” It seems blatantly obvious now. She is the perfect mythical depiction, the biblical stereotype.

“Was. My punishment… I shall elaborate on the point later. Those who believe that I did not truly love Titus, that I sought only to tempt him and satiate my own longing are wrong. I knew that by lying with a human, and a man of God at that, would so jeopardise my immortal soul forever. I was willing: to take the risk, to pay the price. Because I love him, I was willing to give up all the glories and delights of heaven. For him.” She turns away sadly, trying to conceal her tears. “We were caught, you see. He blames me. Of course, it was my fault, but I had believed – had hoped – that he may have found it in his heart to forgive me. That once I was banished I would be free, free to love and cherish him. But deserted me. And I was abandoned. Here.” She spat out the word with distaste, as though it soiled her mouth. Entranced by her story, I gaze at her imploringly, my eyes willing her to continue.

“Titus is enigmatic in the extreme. He claimed that he never loved me, that I was merely something he could not resist. God is merciless. Even love did not stay his hand. You have heard of purgatory, no doubt, but you will not have realised that it is here. Here, on mortal soil, where I must live for an eternity. Here, unloved, undesired. I could have born it all if he had not left me. I waited, accepting that he would be angry. He had been flung out of the monastery you see. Left exposed to the world he despised. I thought he would come back. But he didn’t. Not until now. When he needs me.” She lifts her beautiful head, and stares straight at me. “He comes with you. He cares for you. To what extent I am not sure. But I am beyond jealousy, and you’re story rings true with my own. When the morrow comes, I shall do all in my power to assist you. Until daybreak, I must bid you farewell.”

And she leaves, long wings trailing in her wake. So beautiful. So lonely.