Title: A Shadow Against the Pale Moon.
Writer: Miasen
Disclaimer: I own nothing really.
Spoilers: None
Rating: T
A/N: An idea I suddenly had the other night. It came to me and demanded to be written. So what can one do but write? It is AU and all about Angel. Please review and tell me what you think!
A Shadow Against the Pale Moon
No more pain, no more misery, no more humiliation. It was all going to end, and he would be free. Free to soar through the skies and feel the wind ruffle his feathers. Finally being able to break this cage of fear and be who he wanted to be, who he was supposed to be. He was done being held captive, having to hide his true self with straps and buckles and shame. He had been held back for years, but no more.
In front of him was a mirror, years and years older than himself. Decorated gold frame, carved from costly wood. The mirror was inside a room, great in size and rich in expensive decorations. The room was inside a mansion, a home for those with wealth and those with secrets.
His secret was the greatest of them all. He was one of them, one of the freaks, an abomination. He was not accepted and he knew it. He had shed enough tears to fill an ocean. Had endures pains in attempts to be normal; sharp blades cutting his body bloody, feathers strewn on the floor and spattered in crimson. But he had failed; they would not stay away, but quickly grew back.
He had been a disappointment to his father, had failed to be normal. He had been forced to hide who he was beneath heavy clothes and leather straps. But this was the end. He could endure it no longer, had to be who he was born to be, had to be free.
He slowly removed the heavy coat and let it drop to the floor. In the clear moonlight that illuminated the room he could see the lump in the white shirt that was the cause to all this pain.
He unbuttoned the shirt one button at the time in an unhurried pace. No one would come and disturb him; no one cared about him because he was who he was. His father was busy working on a cure, but only to soothe himself, not to help his son, not really.
As the buttons revealed more and more of the harness that was his prison he felt hate edging towards the surface. Anger towards those who had fashioned this prison, those who made him wear it, and the world that made it a necessity. He had cursed them, had cried because of them, had obeyed them and their demands. But no more, not any longer.
He ripped off his shirt, tearing away the last buttons, making them fly and drop to the cold tile floor, breaking the silence. He paid no attention to them. He tossed the ruined shirt away.
In the mirror he saw a young man wearing nothing but jeans and the leather harness he had worn every day for so many years. It was only a few brown leather straps and silver buckles, but behind it is lay so much more. It was the symbol of fear, pain, hatred, shame. It was what held him back from being his true self.
He picked up a silver dagger from a small table and inspected it. The dagger had been used to cut before, but then it was skin and bone and feathers, but no more, the blade that had caused pain was now going to set him free. It shone faintly in the pale light and felt good in his hand.
He lifted it and held it underneath the strap that went over his left shoulder, and with a swift motion sliced it. The strap on the other shoulder was cut just as easily. For something that had caused so much pain it was easily destroyed.
He moved it towards the strap that crossed his tummy and slashed that as well. Now only one strap remained to hold his well kept secret back. In his rush to cut that as well he opened a shallow gash over his abs. He looked on the bright red blood that ran in a small tickle down his body and stained his light blue jeans with a dark mark at the waist. The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the mental pain he had endured, and was soon forgotten.
He lifted his gaze to the white feathers that was barely visible over his shoulder in the mirror. He shook his back slightly and the rest of the harness fell to the floor. His physical prison was overcome, now only the mental barriers were left. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was his moment to be free.
He opened his eyes, looked at himself and spread his wings for the first time. He was amazed by the sight, they spread so far. Each of the wings was incredible in size, reaching about fifteen feet from tip to tip. They were strikingly white, as snow, as hope.
He moved them slightly; he could feel muscles unused working in his back. For the first time in his life he didn't hear the disappointed voice of his father in his head, didn't see his look of disgust. He only saw his wings and heard a small voice calling out that he was free, free at last.
He hesitated no longer, but turned away from the mirror and towards the other end of the room. Thin silk curtains waved in the small breeze that came from the open window. He smiled for the first time in years and ran for the window, his bare feet making a silent noise on the tiles. He jumped onto the windowsill and leapt, not a worry in his mind anymore. He spread his wings, felt the wind rushing through the feathers, feeling a current underneath and using it by pure instinct. His wings beat and mere feet from the ground he fell no more, but soared to the open night sky.
A laughter issuing from pure joy echoed through the night as a winged shadow was visible against the pale moon.