Eden has become a garden of disgrace and decay, a plane of filthy destruction. Even the highest angels have fallen to corruption without the guidance of one higher than they. The beauty of Heaven is tainted and spoiled by their unholy actions. There is but one thing of beauty remaining, one thing of beauty left in all of creation and that is he. He who is untouchable, he who is placed above all else in the cherub's mind. He who was loved by both the lowest beings of Heaven and the Creator alike. He is the only thing of beauty left, and all else will perish without him. There is nothing outside of Sir Rosiel's light…
Sir Rosiel is crying—
His cold, merciless, light…
Sir Rosiel—He was pulled out of the dream and thus out of slumber, suddenly trembling and aware of how very cold the room had become since he had fallen asleep. Somewhere far in the distance, a bell tolled the hour as though to aid in his awakening.
Sir Rosiel is crying—
He bolted upright atop the bed, disturbing the silken sheets that lay beneath him. The candle he had lit earlier to illuminate the room had at some point gone out.
Sir Rosiel is in pain—
The thought came again and without hesitation Katan rose from the bed. He faltered once and quickly steadied himself; such disorientation after awakening had recently become routine for him.
Sir Rosiel is crying—
He waited for the vertigo to pass, eyes closed, chin quivering from the cold. For a moment he thought that perhaps the strange sensation had been merely a part of the dream, a final waking thought just strong enough to bring him out of sleep completely, and then it came again, pushing into his mind even against his vague resistance, the paralyzing disorientation.
Sir Rosiel needs me—
The sickening feeling passed. His vision cleared. He drew the heavy coat tighter about himself and fled the room, forsaking the refuge of the slumber he had so eagerly sought there earlier. The weariness left him. The heaviness of his eyes departed. The world could have been brought to an end outside the shelter of the grand cathedral and it would not have mattered to him.
Sir Rosiel is in pain—
How many times had such a feeling awakened him in the past? How many times had he been somewhere far from the cathedral when such an awareness had struck him, casting from his mind all other thoughts and duties? And how much more frequent were those occasions becoming now that Sir Rosiel had seen the boy in whose body there rested the soul of his twin? And yet had he ever refused to go to his master when he felt he needed him? No. He could not refuse. No matter how many times Sir Rosiel had, after allowing Katan to see the tears that marred his perfect face, hit him or shouted at him to leave, shouted that he despised him, no matter how many times he had hurt him, he could not refuse.
Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.
Sir Rosiel needs me—
Thy will be done, now as it is always.
Sir Rosiel is crying, Sir Rosiel is in pain—
The door fell shut behind him with a heavy thud.
Now, as it is always, Sir Rosiel.
The corridor beyond was cold and empty, lit only by the silent blue light of the moon outside the many windows. Even in his urgency the sight of the massive structure gave him pause, as his sleep-darkened eyes traveled up the elaborate walls to the high arch of the ceiling, where thousands upon thousands of angels beamed at the crowned face of a robed man. It was nothing he did not see on a regular basis—the church was full of such images, as full of them as those who had placed them there had believed Heaven would be. These images were merely that—images—to him. God had been well into his slumber by the time Katan had learned to use the intelligence that he, as a grigori, was never supposed to possess; he had never witnessed such a spectacle.
His eyes went to the face at the center of the great fresco. The face of God? He had never known God. He had known only Sir Rosiel.
Even now, all these centuries afterward, he knew only Sir Rosiel.
Sir Rosiel is crying—
Katan tore his gaze from the painted ceiling, the grand images that lined the walls. He gave no more though to their beauty.
The room in which his master slept was on the other end of the corridor from the one that Katan had been given. Sometimes in moments of lesser urgency a part of him found this ironically suiting, that Sir Rosiel would place him far enough away so that the distance between them was noticeable but close enough still that he would be close at hand should he be needed.
He found the door unlocked and undisturbed; he could hear no sound of his master's weeping from outside.
"Sir Rosiel?"
He rapped his knuckles gently against the door, waited. When a minute had passed and there had been no response, he called the name again and pushed the door open.
It was even colder inside than his own room had been. A window on the far wall stood open to the chill of the night, granting entrance to a light breeze that was, despite the fierce racing of his heart and the frantic suspicions that plagued his mind, rather soothing, like the cool wind after a storm. Several candles had been lit around the grand bed, framing it as though it were that of an antiquated deity, a god of some great power or a goddess of lust, perhaps. The lights of the tiny flames danced across the tousled sheets, the empty pillows, caressing like so many devout lovers the spot where, perhaps only moments ago, the angel had lain.
Sir Rosiel was not there. It took only a quick preliminary glance for Katan to determine that his master was not in the room, nor was he in the lush bath the door on the opposite side of the room opened into. He was somewhere in the church, Katan could feel it, and he was crying, but he was not here.
He walked quickly back out into the hall, scanned every dusty, decorated inch of it.
Sir Rosiel is crying—
He whispered his master's name into the still shadows. His voice echoed hollowly back to him in a hushed chant: Sir Rosiel, Sir Rosiel, Sir Rosiel…
He was not within the candlelit sanctuary of his chambers. There was only one other place he could be, one place despite how many rooms the cathedral contained.
He walked the length of the corridor toward the front of the cathedral, where on the other side of the dark alcove the chapel was located. Somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere where he could think such things without a great awareness that he was doing so, he realized that he was reluctant to find his master, reluctant to go to him even when he was needed. He thought of all the times this had happened in the past, of his master's tempting embrace, of his troubled soul made naked as he cried into Katan's shoulder, of the moments afterward of either fear and punishment or desire. He thought of one of the more recent times it had happened, of Sir Rosiel's arms suddenly tightening about him and his lips coming so close to Katan's that he had had the sinful hope that Sir Rosiel would kiss him—
Enough.
He entered the alcove, crossed it into the arched doorway of the chapel. Moonlight flooded every inch and marble crevice of it through the gaping hole in the ceiling, touching upon the decadent ruins as though it possessed in itself the power to restore what man and time had destroyed. At the head of the chapel, beyond what remained of the simple altar, the broken crucifix cast an ominous shadow over the center aisle, as though the God to Whom this church in all its former magnificence had been constructed now dared some brave soul to approach under the promise of damnation.
Such thoughts had not always come so easily to his mind.
Below the crucifix, huddled in the manner of a child and clothed only by the entanglements of a silken white sheet, lay his master.
"Sir Rosiel."
He approached the angel slowly, tentatively. Sir Rosiel gave no sign that he heard or glimpsed his figure moving toward him, thought surely he must have.
Katan knelt by his master's quivering body, placed a wary hand upon his shoulder. "Sir Rosiel?"
The angel shifted at his touch. The wild locks of his lavender hair fell away from his face, revealing a pair of eyes that were closed despite the tears that flowed freely down the perfectly sculpted cheeks and a mouth open in some unimaginable pain.
His master was asleep.
Katan felt an almost endearing smile light upon his face and again he allowed his hand to brush against his master's shoulder. If in whatever visions that plagued his mind Sir Rosiel felt this, he did not know.
A sob escaped the angel's lips. He continued to weep and Katan's hand traveled up into the tangled, curled mass of his hair. He could easily have woken him. Perhaps he should have. But then what would have happened? Sir Rosiel's eyes opening and his pained expression yielding to one of relief? His arms again locking desperately around Katan's body as he pleaded never to be left alone? Or would it this time be his hand rising into the air and coming down across Katan's face, or perhaps the sting of his nails driving into his flesh? Was it not safer to simply let this horrid dream play out so that Sir Rosiel would awaken to find himself not alone at all but in the company of one who had sworn never to leave him?
Sir Rosiel sobbed again and his head turned so that his damp face was pressed into Katan's hand.
He started to withdraw, paused. One disobedient fingertip traveled down his tear-stained cheek. God, to touch such beauty—
Surely it could not be too great of a sin. Surely it could not further harm Sir Rosiel to be reminded, even as he slept, that he was beautiful. Perhaps if Sir Rosiel could feel it, it would eventually drive this nightmare from his head, would replace it with the realization of how much he was loved.
With such childish thoughts encouraging him, he continued to stroke his master's face, softly running his fingertips over his closed eyes, the line of his nose, the feminine curve of his lips. Sometimes it felt as though Sir Rosiel's face was following his hand although it did not awaken him.
His fierce weeping did not cease. Katan's own eyes clenched shut as his fingers stroked the side of his master's perfect face. There was nothing else he could do.
"Alexiel," the angel moaned finally, tossing in the shadow of the crucifix. "Sister…please…"
Katan leaned closer to his master's tortured face. "Please don't do this, Sir Rosiel." He instantly bit his tongue for it.
As if in response, the angel whispered the name again.
He ran his fingers over his delicate jaw line. "Please, Sir Rosiel, I wish you would stop." Again, despite the guilt that accompanied those words, he had spoken ill of Sir Rosiel's twin and there had come no retaliation.
Lying helplessly on the chapel floor, his pale face dirtied by the gray flecks of dust that covered it, Sir Rosiel whimpered and, for the moment at least, lay still.
Katan watched him a moment longer, at last spoke again in the security of knowing his master could not hear him. "I do wish you wouldn't allow her to cause you so much pain, Sir Rosiel."
His supplications remained unheard.
"I want you to return to Atziluth with me. Let's go back to the way things used to be. Please, Sir Rosiel. Come back to Atziluth with me. Once you've reestablished your power there, if you still want to find her you'll have all eternity to do so. You'll have all of Heaven to help you."
Safe in a slumber that now seemed dreamless, the angel gave a small sigh and his trembling body relaxed.
Katan moved closer to him, gently lifted his head from the hard floor. Sir Rosiel's lips parted in a sigh that briefly touched the side of his face.
"Do you still remember those days, Sir Rosiel?" he continued. His own chin quivered as he said these words.
There could be no response. There could be no protests, no heated words, no insults to remind him how low he was, how worthless, no burning slaps. There could be nothing but the small sounds Sir Rosiel made in his sleep and Katan's feeling that his own heart was at this very moment breaking.
He moved the angel's head up into the crook of his arm, cradling him as though he were a child. Too often in too many ways, he still was.
"I've thought of those days often lately. I know that I'm ungrateful, Sir Rosiel. You've no need to tell me that. And I am grateful to be near you again. But do you still remember how it was in Atziluth? How powerful you were and yet still how kind? How beautiful and compassionate you were? Everyone loved you, Sir Rosiel, just as I love you now, as I've loved you since you made me a cherub and your son. Is this what she's done to you, Sir Rosiel?" He paused, bit down on his lip to cease its tremor. His vision momentarily blurred.
Held loosely against him, silent and unmoving now, Sir Rosiel did nothing.
"I love you, Sir Rosiel. I have loved you since I first heard your voice, glimpsed the light that was your true beauty. Nothing you do will ever change that. But, Sir Rosiel, I cannot help but want to return to those days. I think of what you were then and what you are now, and what I feel for you isn't only love but grief as well, grief over what it was that died inside you. I grieve for the beautiful, kind angel you were then, the merciful being who delivered me from that screaming hell. And I feel sympathy for you, Sir Rosiel, because I believe you cannot help what you do. You ask me if I understand your actions. Do you understand this, Sir Rosiel? Can you understand it?" He stopped, disbelieving that he had just spoken these things. His eyes again burned with the tears he would not allow to flow. "I'm sorry, Sir Rosiel," he mumbled, though his master could not hear him. "I'm sorry. I should not have said such things."
His master's quiet breathing continued unabated. The expression on his pale face had softened into that of an innocent child.
The angel sighed in his sleep. His lips again parted; his slow, steady breath touched the chilled side of Katan's neck, sending a strange tremor down the length of his spine.
Sir Rosiel's full lips moving only an inch from his own, forming each word in a series of sensuous curves that he had never before noticed in such a manner: "Do you still find me beautiful, Katan?"
His hands gripping Katan's shoulders, holding him still, holding him close. "Y-yes, Sir Rosiel."
Sir Rosiel leaning closer, their lips all but touching...
Please end this torture—
Such sinful thoughts…
—Let this all end—
A sin to satisfy such wicked desires, to fulfill this strange starvation…
Please, Sir Rosiel, just once, just one glance from your perfect eyes and I am satisfied—
He studied the innocent expression upon his master's face, the pale curve of his open mouth. He thought of how badly he, even as Sir Rosiel's son, had desired what had almost been given to him once.
He lowered his face toward that of his sleeping master.
He could not do this. He could not do this. He could not—From his own lips escaped a quiet, choked sigh. The tremulous sound of his surrender whispered through the lavender waves of his master's hair.
This desolation, this is the true Eden. This is the waste of what is left of Heaven.
Please, Sir Rosiel, forgive me.
"Forgive me," he whispered, closing his moist eyes. He pressed his lips gently against the angel's cheek, in the last moment losing the courage to place this kiss upon his lips.
A single tear rolled down the side of his face, falling into the angel's hair.
Pray for us sinners—
"…Katan…"
He gasped, pulled away from him.
Sir Rosiel's open eyes—two spheres of divine perfection—narrowed in confusion. "What were you doing, Katan?"
His voice caught in his throat. "N-nothing, Sir Rosiel."
The angel's hand emerged from the sheets, locked around Katan's wrist. "What were you doing?"
"Forgive me, Sir Rosiel."
Sir Rosiel watched him in silence; the moonlight reflected brilliantly in the dark pools of his eyes, making him appear in those moments in which he remained perfectly still, as a jeweled statue sculpted to be placed in a church such as this one had been.
"Sir Rosiel?"
The angel collapsed weakly against the floor. His pale hand loosened about Katan's wrist, moving upward until it brushed lightly against the side of his face even as his eyes turned away, as though his mind were still subject to whatever visions had tormented him in the dream and he was now seeing something else to trouble him.
"I thought…I thought that I saw her," he whispered. One of his long fingernails grazed beckoningly across Katan's chin. He spoke his sister's name and fell silent, staring into the shadows of the chapel.
"It was only a dream, Sir Rosiel." He laid his hand atop that of his master.
Sir Rosiel allowed this. The corners of his mouth turned up into a wry, half-hearted smile. "Yes, it was only a dream, wasn't it?" he asked, his voice quivering as though he were about to weep again. "All of this"—he raised his other hand and gestured at their surroundings—"it's all a dream, and soon we will awaken to find that everything we see is merely a beautiful deception. Don't you think so, Katan?" His eyes rolled to the side, stared inquisitively into Katan's.
He started to speak, could not.
I would rather see you angry, I would rather you hurt me, than see you like this.
He never gave an answer. Sir Rosiel's eyes closed again and he shuddered beneath the thin covering of the silk sheet. "It's so cold in here, Katan," he mumbled. "I want to go back."
He nodded obediently. "Yes, Sir Rosiel."
He gathered the sheet tighter about his master's body and lifted him into his arms. Sir Rosiel continued to murmur softly to himself, so quietly that Katan could not discern whether they were indeed coherent words or not.
Thy will be done—
End this torture please end it.
The shadow of the broken crucifix presided over their departure in solemn scrutiny.
He carried his master out of the chapel, back into the dark corridor. At some point during the minutes since Sir Rosiel had awakened a cloud had drifted in front of the moon, and now the many paintings that lined the walls were dark, their robed figures merely shadows. Now more than ever the painted faces seemed false, utterly meaningless, artificial eyes and mouths and wings of oil and nothing more. Truly empty, as empty as he sometimes felt his own soul was becoming after Sir Rosiel had become angry and told him how worthless he was while he pleaded for forgiveness. It didn't matter, really. All was emptiness without Sir Rosiel. All was emptiness with him.
Sir Rosiel's arms went loosely around his neck and he laid his head wearily against his shoulder.
Thy will be done—
I love you, Sir Rosiel.
Forgive us our trespasses—
I only wanted to be near you.
Now as it always—
All of those years without you, I only wanted to be near you. I am nothing without you.
Pray for us sinners, you are the one I sin for—
I forgive you, Sir Rosiel.
Now as it is always, on Earth as it is in Heaven—
I love only you, Sir Rosiel.
In emptiness and utter desolation.
He had left the wide door to Sir Rosiel's chambers open and once they had passed through it he shut it quickly behind them, shutting out all the darkened icons that inspired such thoughts. He laid his master gently upon the bed and crossed the room to shut the window, halting the chill that seeped inside.
Behind him, Sir Rosiel gave a contented sigh and ceased his quiet murmuring.
They remained like this, Katan silent and watching a world he was not truly seeing through the window, Sir Rosiel stirring every few minutes but saying nothing more. In this span of time the bell he had heard as he awakened tolled the hour twice more.
He thought of what he had said in the chapel; he thought of the punishment that awaited him if Sir Rosiel had somehow heard him? He thought of the feel of Sir Rosiel's skin beneath his lips, the feel of his hair entwined around his fingers. He thought of the moment, so many centuries ago, when Sir Rosiel had taken him into his arms for the first time, of how he had not truly known how much he would love him until then. He thought of all the years spent afterward, longing only to be at Sir Rosiel's side again.
What use were such memories to him now?
Perhaps he truly had been taken out of one hell and placed into another. No, that could not be true. This was Heaven and its tortures were sweet, sweet as poisoned wine and meaningless kisses from uncaring lips. To use Sir Rosiel's own words, a beautiful deception.
Or perhaps he simply thought too much.
He decided that it really didn't matter. Behind him, Sir Rosiel moaned pitifully in his sleep and shifted onto his back, pulling the sheet down to expose his pale chest.
Katan glanced back at him and gave a vague smile. No, it really didn't matter. None of it did.
* * *
I know it was a bit of a far cry from my usual, so any comments are appreciated. Thanks!
-Phoenix Serapha