Disclaimer: Still don't own ToS and still not making money on any of this. Boy, I wish I was...

Note: This was part of an ABC challenge that was Tales of Symphonia themed. So I was given the word and went with it from then.

Warning: Crack pairing!

Contortion

"(noun) The act of twisting or wrenching, or the state of being twisted or wrenched"

Remiel could remember, but he would not admit it.

He had lived over eight hundred years, having been specially reared to be the link between the worlds and Cruxis. His was exactly the appearance Cruxis wanted to show the Chosen: charming, handsome, and divine. However lovely his exterior, though, inside was bleak and barren. Carefully cultivated as he was, his sanity had not completely withstood the angelic process. Unlike the others, though, he had been allowed to keep his reason and memories. At the time, he had thought it a great boon to not become a soulless drone; he soon learned otherwise.

The life of an angel was unchanging. That is, everything changed except you. Time had stopped for his body. He felt no pain or pleasure, desire or need, fear or contentment. The only thing he had left was Lord Yggdrasil and his cause which his mind clung to desperately. He managed to eek out a twisted sort of pleasure out of monitoring the many Chosen he got to meet. It was not out of any sort of compassion, but instead a delightful rush of power as he manipulated them to their ends. He played every part required of him: he cajoled, comforted, praised, and flattered. Everything was done to ensure that when the final moment came and the doom came upon them, the greatest pieces of emotions were played out. Some accepted their fate with grim resignation while others cursed and strained against it. In what was left of his heart he tucked away the impressions of those times like stolen candy, suckling at them until the time came to again do his duty.

Yet it was not only the Chosen that he got to meet.

Due to a rule that had been in place long before he was even born, the Mana lineage had to be carefully culminated. In the process, the elders of the family would choose the best candidate and then the lucky one got to spend a week in the Martel Temple, to purify themselves and presumably get the blessings from the angel. It was also one of the more stagnant of Remiel's duties. He was to observe the candidate, but was otherwise not required to do any interaction. As such he never spoke to any of them, viewing them as mere breeding stock.

But there had been that one time.

How it happened he couldn't remember. Perhaps he had been bored and curious or the man had stumbled upon him. In the end, it didn't matter how it happened. It was only the cause that would unleash unforeseen consequences.

Never had he thought of the man as attractive, even though he had been young and naive. It had been obvious why this one had been chosen; he had been bredinto the role. Besides having a spotless pedigree, he had had religion pumped into him like mother's milk. As such, he had no roving eye and limited experience with women. He was the great-grandson of a Chosen and was both second cousin twice removed and fourth cousin once removed from his bride-to-be.

How did Remiel know?

From the numerous talks they had.

He must have been lonelier than he thought to have condescended to such lows for company. Yet it was only the two of them there, with not even priests allowed inside. Beggars could not be choosers.
Remiel did not answer any questions about himself- though there were numerous inquiries- and so got to hear all about the life of this one, the man called Frank. Like any human given the opportunity, Frank could talk endlessly about himself and his thoughts. To his immense surprise, Remiel never wearied of it. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever really interacted with someone and his mind feasted on it as ravenous as when its meals consisted of other people's suffering. The two men started to discuss things, little things, for hours and hours until poor Frank had to drift off into sleep. Remiel would sit and wait, patient and impatient at the same time, wondering at what had come over him only to renew the cycle the next day.

A week is far too short a time to fall in love.

Far too soon came the day for Frank to leave. The two stood close together, not quite looking at each other. Both knew they would never see each other again, but each would have to travel down the road set before them. At last Frank looked into his eyes, blue meeting blue, and said, "I look forward to raising your child."

Remiel thought it an entirely stupid sentiment, but somehow could not bring himself to say so. It struck him, suddenly, that not only was this man going to go out and have a child, but Remiel would be the one to put that child to death. How many times must he learn that no life springs from an angel? (He could not help a grim twist of humor that ironically pointed out that it would be hewho would be cuckold.) His only response was, "Please do." He would mock himself for his clumsy tongue for nearly a decade.

There was a heavy, pregnant pause. Then, realizing there was nothing left to say, Frank began to turn away- only to stop suddenly at the sound of his name being called. He turned back, expectant as a puppy. Remiel was strangely serious as he explained, "I haven't given you your angel's blessing."

Then two pairs of lips met.

That was all seventeen years ago but there is no time for an angel. It had been a blight on an otherwise endless cycle. Frank and his wife did have a child, a daughter named Colette, who would prove to be their only progeny. Though he had heard of her existence, Remiel did not lay eyes on her until her sixteenth birthday. With blond hair and blue eyes, he could strongly see her father's image in her. And she was on her way to becoming an angel. The thought pleased him. Soon both he and Frank would be represented in the child. This night, after she and her companions bested the trials at Triet, would mark the beginning. And though he could not be her sire, he eagerly anticipated being by her side when the end came. Pretty little thing, she would have no fear of being alone.

Now come to me- my beloved daughter, Colette.