When Angels Fall [GXG]

Chapter 19

The next good half of their morning is spent in relative silence as they lounge about in bed, lazily luxuriating in each other's presence while Sofiel slips in and out of a dreamless sleep.

As it would seem, the purification ritual is far more taxing on her body than Sofiel has ever imagined. Angels — or divine beings, as a general rule — don't need sleep. Their bodies are made sturdy, sculpted in a way that physical exertion simply does not exist. Sofiel has literally been running on a couple of centuries without rest and she's been doing fine so far.

But for the first time, her body actually craves sleep, and she can't explain why.

By the time the noon sun hangs high and the rest of the morning rolls by, Sofiel is fairly certain that she is more than awake, albeit still fatigued, nonetheless.

It's thankfully the weekend, so there's no need for Abigail to up and leave in a hustle and bustle, and Sofiel's glad for that. Glad that every time she wakes, Abigail is there by her side, holding her hand with that soft look in her eyes, a smile on her face.

It's a small comfort that Sofiel relishes in.

And while Abigail would have probably lain there in bed with her all day if she could, she is still — at the end of the day — but a mortal.

A mortal who requires a strict set of basic needs for survival.

The first rumblings of Abigail's stomach came and went with a bashful smile and a quick wave of the hand; along with the assurance that all is fine and dandy, that she isn't the least bit hungry despite the call of her stomach.

But soon came the second and then, the third. By the fourth time her stomach had growled — a low and almost plaintive cry of her body need for sustenance — Sofiel knew that she couldn't just lay there and take Abigail's bare-faced lie as it was any longer.

As much as Sofiel wants to keep her all to herself, she also knows that her selfishness can only go so far.

So, she lets Abigail go with a rueful smile and a feeble shove of her shoulders. "Don't come back till you're full to the brim," she says.

Honestly, Sofiel would have accompanied Abigail over to the kitchen if she could. But a step out of bed had seen her knees buckling and her frame crumpling, falling over head-first if Abigail hadn't been there to steady her with a firm grip on her shoulders. It was decided then that it was probably for the best if she remained in bed while Abigail helped herself to breakfast or lunch — brunch, or whatever the mortals seem to call it.

Abigail's hand falters over the brass knob of the door for a brief second as she turns to look over her shoulder at Sofiel with a frown, looking vaguely like a kicked puppy. Unwilling and reluctant to leave.

"Go, I'm not going anywhere." Sofiel sends her a coaxing smile, and with a sigh and one final look, Abigail acquiesces, gently closing the door behind her.

The ensuing silence that follows after Abigail's departure is deafening, and for the first time that day, Sofiel finds herself alone with nothing but her dark and weary thoughts.

She tries not to think about everything that has happened to her so far.

But how can she not, when the wounds on her back are still fresh and so very raw, pulsing faintly beneath her bandaged wrappings. And to rub further salt into her very much open wound, sits what's left of Abigail's shattered mirror — still yet to be disposed of — in the far corner of the room. A painful eyesore and a reminder of all that she has lost in the span of hours.

Her wings, her pride, her home.

All gone.

Can't fly. Can't return. She's now stuck in the lower realm till the end of time, and there's no way out.

She has lost absolutely everything.

And now that Sofiel is conscious enough to take proper stock of her body after the purification ritual, she can see that the stigma has indeed taken a turn for the worse. Roots anchored so far deep has now spanned across the entirety of her right shoulder, right down to her bicep. It taints all that is has touched in blotches of black — like rotting death.

It won't be for long before she loses the function of her right arm, she's sure.

Rubbing the heel of her palms into her eyes, Sofiel wants to scream; wants to holler and cry, till she's empty and dry.

She has all but one fate now, and that fate is sealed and cast in stone. It's not a matter of if anymore, but a matter of when she will fall. There's no turning back and there's no fixing it.

There's no denying the inevitable.

She is going to fall.

Sofiel soughs in a deep, shuddering breath that rattles her lungs as she closes her eyes, clearing her mind at the first threat of the stigma prickling at her skin. Burying her face in her hands, she counts to ten, all while ignoring the growing pressure of tears building behind her closed lids.

And once all is calm, she opens her eyes, albeit feeling no less broken than she did before.

Sofiel starts to plan.

****

a/n: soo... not that it actually matters, i don't think. but chapters 1-3 have been re-written slightly, with some additional scenes. nothing massive that would affect the plot in anyway but yea. just putting it out there. :)