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Jun. 13th, 2004 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaebilityThaumiel paced in his room, muttering ancient, useless curses under his breath. He had been Angel of Crown, answering to no one but Seraph himself. The most beautiful of angels, turned to this! He lifted trembling hands and stared at them, his eyes twitching with fright. Fingers that once caressed the ivory staffs of the Heavens could barely stay steady enough to light a cigarette. Still shaking he lifted his ink stained fingers ot his cheeks - had he not been blessed with a kiss there, eons ago?
"Fucking-agh!" He tore at his tainted flesh; it was useless, nothing could injure him, even as a Fallen. Trapped between the two realms he floated in constant torture - not able to die and never able to be redeemed. The office was was his pitiful attempt to create a stable environment, one that would last, as he had, but even that -his haven!- had began to sink into decay. It was only him -him! Angel of Crown!- that remained.
Beautiful! Oh, he had radiated a light that made Seraph weep. His wings, his glorious wings, had been so striking that even demons murmured approval. And he had them still, he laughed bitterly, the wings at which everyone stared: long, red bones that never healed and never disappeared - the shattered remains of his Angelhood were scars on his back. They were to be tied down, at all costs! They were his shame now, a terrible lesson that he had learned when he had been casted from Heaven. He was ashamed now, ashamed of being Thaumiel.
The self-realization struck so poigntly that he nearly collapsed. His hands grasped his desk, saving him from a complete fall. He sobbed, dryly and painfully.
"Fucking-agh!" He tore at his tainted flesh; it was useless, nothing could injure him, even as a Fallen. Trapped between the two realms he floated in constant torture - not able to die and never able to be redeemed. The office was was his pitiful attempt to create a stable environment, one that would last, as he had, but even that -his haven!- had began to sink into decay. It was only him -him! Angel of Crown!- that remained.
Beautiful! Oh, he had radiated a light that made Seraph weep. His wings, his glorious wings, had been so striking that even demons murmured approval. And he had them still, he laughed bitterly, the wings at which everyone stared: long, red bones that never healed and never disappeared - the shattered remains of his Angelhood were scars on his back. They were to be tied down, at all costs! They were his shame now, a terrible lesson that he had learned when he had been casted from Heaven. He was ashamed now, ashamed of being Thaumiel.
The self-realization struck so poigntly that he nearly collapsed. His hands grasped his desk, saving him from a complete fall. He sobbed, dryly and painfully.
