Cherub.

9

"Drag me down to Hell so that I may serve you again. With my horns, with my divinity, without a broken body, with a renewed devotion, I will throw myself at your feet, father." The demon cried, his hands pressed tightly together. His savior was not on any of the stained glass but he felt his presence. He felt the lingering, hot spirit of Lucifer near him. "My love is freely given. My adoration is freely given. My devotion is freely given. Ask for whatever you like—for worship, for sacrifice—and it is yours." Oddly enough to say, Lucifer was more than a 'father' to the demon. Lucifer was everything and more—all in one. His lover, his maker, his guardian, his caretaker. He would lie down and die a thousands times over for the fallen angel.

His voice echoed inside of the church, figuring that no one was here, Kahlo didn't mind. He kneeled infront of the church alter, where he felt most safe and spoke to his one and only. "I will kiss every charred feather, every fading scar, every mark of your fall, for you are still so beautiful. You are the envy of Heaven itself. I beg you, Morning Star, Light-Bearer, drag me down. Rip me from this torture so that I may be your obedient servant once more and follow you into the freedom of a new kingdom again!" Silence blanketed over the large church as Kahlo tried to listen. He nearly held his breath, hoping that Lucifer would speak to him once more—the silent treatment he'd been given was agonizing.

He felt unwanted by the one person he knew he'd never live without. His escape was a mistake. He hadn't meant to cause his love so much harm and pain. "Love me again." He cried aloud, heaving sobs pouring out of him. Angelo was not the only one homesick.

"K-Kahlo..." the soft voice trailed off. Angelo had been watching. Watching a demon cry was far worse than watching an angel cry. Kahlo's tears didn't spill like they were raindrops, nor was his pained face similar to shattered glass—though his sobs did sound like thunder as he weeped. It awoke something within the Angelo that he hated. A negative feeling engulfed him and the energy radiating from Kahlo could probably be felt by a mortal as well—it was that powerful. That tragic.

"Young man!" Angelo seemed to flinch within the shadows as he watched from afar. He'd taken shelter between the many benches, unnoticed by the priests and nuns. "You are praying to the wrong thing." The priest seemed to have stormed out of nowhere, interrupting Kahlo's loud prayers. He sat his hand on the young demon's shoulder and snatched him up.

"Lucifer is not wrong." Kahlo responded, now forced to face the much older, Caucasian man.

"Inside of this church, he is!" He shouts nastily without hesitation. "How dare you disrespect the power of Christ inside of his holy, sanctified home, boy?" His voice was much louder than Kahlo's now, his face turning bright red.

"It's where I'm most safe." Kahlo answered, turning his head to the side in a curious manner. He was confused at this person's obvious anger. "Lucifer loves God too—he's always welcome-"

"The devil will never be welcomed in the home of Christ!" He spoke in a baffled manner. He was shocked that Kahlo could be saying such a thing. He didn't know God, he didn't know Lucifer. "You and your false God need to get out of here now!" The priest barked, holding up his shiny, silver rosary.

"Lucifer is no false God!" Kahlo shouted now. Angelo's breath sped up now, his stomach bubbling with nervousness. He couldn't speak, he couldn't think—he was afraid. "He is an angel! He burns with a glow so bright, that it will burns the eyes from your head! As breathtaking as an angel in their true form." He spoke matter-of-factly. Anger boiled his blood—Kahlo felt scorching hot. Angels and demons were creatures of another plane, just like fiends, elementals, and aberrations. Deep down, he had an unsettling appearance, hiding his true terrifying form from mortal eyes lest they be burned from their skulls.