ENDEAVOR.
aethere.
"I did not deny God's existence, but I doubted His absolute justice." --Elie Wiesel, Night
...for how could anyone be blamed but he, who could have saved us all, but did not? All, even I, must have a scapegoat. I blame him and his Occurian folk for my creation. I also blame them for the creation of those whose very presence dared to allow my dreams the curiously cruel sensation of falling - those who colored my wings, all four of them, black for their own amusement. As High Seraph and forgiver of all sinners, I apologize not for my actions. I apologize for his. I am not so foolish as to deny that he is God and that he exists, no, but I will always deny his wisdom.
How could he let me fall? He coveted me when I was only a slight slip of a thing. I was not yet grown to my full splendor as his chosen avatar. I had power that I could barely use and he was the one who taught me. I strived only for his approval. I thought less of the Occuria. I think less of him now, but I was a naive young youth. Better to have grown and realized my mistake than be like Zodiark, a child still in love with his creator and blind to his flaws.
His affection faded as mine waxed, when once the love he had for his little surrogate daughter was so strong and unyielding. I became worthless as he began to pay more attention to his other creations. Perhaps he believed they were stronger, smarter, and more useful compared to me, the first of his mismatched experiments to create life where his counterparts, the Occuria, had also dabbled. Perhaps he sought to show up the inhabitants of the dark corners from which he crawled with one beautiful doll after another - but no one could call Adrammeloch, or Famfrit, or Shemhazai, anything but ugly. Shemhazai looked at herself with shame, Famfrit sealing himself away in armor so he would not kill all that he touched. Adrammeloch enjoyed the power and wrote it upon his body in runes of blood, scorching his skin and killing all that worshipped him.
In this I saw my creator's flaw, one of many I would uncover.
In this, I saw that my brothers and sisters were nothing other than his clones. They were not his children - not like me.
In this, I saw that he had made me purely by mistake; and because my birth was a mistake, so too was I. In his other creations, rather than his best (me), he saw that I was only a prototype to be improved upon. He saw himself as the ultimate model, the proper mold for all to come. However, by fixing the mistakes he believed he had made during my birth, he only created more for him to ponder. These ones were the ones he did not even notice.
Mateus' greed for power was unmatched by my yearning for respect.
Zalera was weak and easily swayed, while I stood firm and held my opinion until I was cast down permanently.
Belias had potential at first, but evolved into a lovesick fool, where I had no heart or desire for one. They were superficial things. No one needed them, least of all me.
Oh, yes, claims were made that it made one a better person. Folk told of its ability to heal madness. But I, High Seraph, purged my own world of the word love and all its kin, swearing never to let a heart beat within my ribcage...if one could call it that. Technically it was nothing more than gears, making me a mechanism like all the rest. Technically speaking, it was a part added as an afterthought by a man (hardly) that thought to better himself by bettering his children...again, if one could call it that.
I realize now, if I did not in the past - that I was never "God's child," nor his avatar or companion. My creator was hardly what God should be.
If I might give him a name at all, it would be that of the Devil.