Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue.
Author's Note: Don't worry, I'm still definitely working on my other fics. I just needed something else to start. See how long it takes you to guess who this character at the beginning is before I tell you…
Fallen
By The 41st Magaunac
He was awoken by the clatter of keys in his cell door. It
was time.
He had no idea how long he'd lain there, awaiting his fate.
It had seemed like an eternity he had been there, his once unblemished pale skin
was marked with flecks of dirt, his once sapphire blue eyes dull with fatigue.
This wasn't your average prison. Nothing under the Lord's
management was. He had a clean bed in the corner, a little washbasin in the
corner, everything he could need. It was like staying in a motel, not in a
prison. It was cool, not too hot, and not too warm. He could set the lights
however he wished, sleep if he desired.
None of this meant anything though. Not to a condemned man.
It only reminded him of what was outside the walls of the
pure white room. He had been in solitary confinement for days… weeks even? He
really had not a clue. He couldn't register if time was passing slowly or
quickly for him. It felt like it didn't pass at all.
'Interference'. That was what they called it. It wasn't in
his job description, he had over stepped the line once again… but why? He had
set himself up to lose everything. An eternity in paradise, his wings, his
immortality, his soul… and all for what?
For love. For him.
The figure by the door paced over to him, helping him to his
feet. The soft cobalt eyes the prisoner looked into were full of sorrow; tears
flowing freely down the visitor's cheeks. He touched the prisoner gently on his
face, kissing his forehead, then blessing him. His visitor then said only two
words to him.
"It's time."
The time had come for him to stand before the Lord for the
last time. He would be sentenced, and punished on the spot. It would be severe,
but this much he expected. Everyone else seemed even sadder about it that he
was. He wasn't afraid anymore. He was resigned.
He wasn't tied or cuffed as he was led down the long white
corridor. Some of his cellmates looked up as he walked past, some of them
nodding to him gently, as though supporting him in his trip into the judgement
chambers. He followed behind his visitor, who had his long braid tied with
white ribbons to show his rank.
He was walked into the centre of another pure white room.
There were people without faces to his left and right, people he could see due
to heavy white silk veils they wore. Behind a tall desk, the Lord was seated, a
pile of papers on his desk. His dark brown hair was slightly awry on his head,
cold Prussian blue eyes watching the intruders carefully.
"Bring him forward," he said in a deep, mellow voice which
sounded like music. The braided follower walked behind the accused, pushing him
towards where the Lord was sat.
"Here he is, Lord," the chestnut haired youth then proceeded
to back away from the accused, as though he were tainted.
"Quatre?"
The blonde prisoner looked up into the face of God, his
sapphire eyes gleaming with defiance, "Yes Lord?"
"You are still unrepentant?"
"I stand by what I did, Lord, with my whole heart."
"Then I cannot save you. You do realise this, don't you?"
The long braided servant shook his head sadly, more tears of sorrow glittering
on his face. "You do not need to see this Duo. You should go."
Quatre watched as the chestnut haired follower left, his
face buried in his hands. Poor Duo… he had always been so sensitive. He turned
back to the vision before him. "I realise that I cannot be saved Lord."
"Then I have no choice but to issue your final punishment…"
Quatre pulled himself up to his full height, his long white
robes draped at his side, hands that were once placid and peaceful bunched up
into fists.
"In the name of the Management, I strip you, Quatre Raberba
Winner, of all rights to immortality and a future among the Heavens. Your wings
shall be shorn; your slate swept clean of all the good you ever did anyone.
Memories of your deeds will never be forgotten, and for the rest of your mortal
life, you will be plagued by dreams that may one day make you see the error of
your ways. As for the life which you returned without authority to the mortal
soldier... Your purpose on Earth will be to make the remainder of his days as
peaceable as you can. You will no longer be able to register the importance of
your own existence. The life you gave, Quatre, was not yours to give, so you
must use your own life to make up for the debt you owe. Do you understand?"
"Yes Lord."
"The let it be so. You are no longer our business."
Two figures dressed in silvery robes approached Quatre from
behind, and he knew the worst was coming. Of everything, this had been the bit
he was dreading.
"Wings," the first one said. Quatre wasn't even sure if they
had names he could have called them by.
He lifted the almost transparent snow-white wings from where
they had been resting against his back.
"Spread," the second voice said.
Quatre obliged, lifting the pretty, feathered angel wings
and spreading them out as far as they would reach.
There was a tearing sound. One each of the men had grabbed either
wing and ripped downwards, shattering his ethereal image with a heart-wrenching
shudder of agony that jolted through his body. The pure white robes he wore
were suddenly stained with blood… his own blood. He had never seen it before,
and looked at it with a sense of wonder as his head began to spin as the
delicate wonders were ripped off his back entirely. A feeling of loss
overwhelmed him, incredible sorrow like he had never experience.
The Lord had looked away.
He felt himself being lifted up and tossed through oceans
and oceans of clouds, the wind rushing past his ears as he saw the world
beneath him, full, green and lush with life.
With aching slowness, he plummeted through the pale blue
sky, the sun rising just to his right, casting beautiful pink sparkles across
the vastness of the darker blue eternity of the sea which was now beneath him.
An icy abyss and unconsciousness came welcome to him, the
pain subsiding as nothingness replaced it.
***
To Be Continued.