Ch. 1

I flew off into the night, my wings testing and embracing the wind almost instinctively. Tears streaked my face as I thought of what I was leaving behind….

……..…………………………..

I wake, a cold sweat covering my body. It is almost dawn, color beginning to stain the lightening sky. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I sit up on my perch on the beam.

The rain from the previous night had al but disappeared, leaving only stray droplets left on the visible panes of stained-glass.

Oh, the cruel irony! The onslaught of the night's downpour had driven me to take refuge in an old cathedral. A demon such as I has no right to disturb grounds such as these.

However, I will admit, after almost seven years of lying in doorways and barns, this is one of the most comfortable places I have found. Saint Matthew's cathedral, Marseilles, France. My current residence for the next few days…

It is Sunday morning of all days, and as the sun raises its shining head over the skyline, I see what looks to be a choir boy lighting candles. I watch him as he lifts up the lit rod and ignites the wicks of the previously extinguished candles, bathing the pews and altar in soft pre-morning light.

I stand and walk down the beam, my changed body making no sound to human ears. I follow him as he moves up one wall and then back down the other. I am curious as well as a little frightened…what if he finds me? I wonder, foolishly. No one can find me, and no one can catch me. But then…why is he looking up towards me? Why is he smiling at me so knowingly that it makes my body stiffen. But above all, why is it that I feel drawn to him? Why do I want to go down there to him?

I stand still as he moves over to see me better. How did he know where to look? I don't understand…he beckons me with his finger, but still I remain standing, though his eyes, which I can see clearly even from here, plead with me with a white fire intensity that almost brings me to obey.

Now that I can observe him closer, I see he is not a young boy, but one of at least sixteen or seventeen. With hair of ebony and skin like marble, he looks more like a model than a son of the church.

Finally, after many long moments of staring at one another, he calls up to me in a voice so sweet, it brings back pain filled memories that clench my heart, making it unbearable, and yet, I listen to the words as if they were the breath of life itself.

"well, then. If you will not come to me, I will go to you." he smiles and he does something so unexpected, so magnificent that I almost tumble off of the rafter.

He spread open his onyx wings and ascended towards me…..