The room was a soothing, cheerful space. I’d painted the walls lavender and deep purple, with silver stars scattered across every surface, to match Precious’s hair and eyes. In one corner sat a crib stuffed with bright pillows and soft comforters, all dyed in vivid shades of blue, green, and indigo. I’d even fashioned a mobile, with shining golden feathers that swung gently above the crib. The feathers, when they moved, hummed lullabies that I had composed centuries upon centuries before.
I extended my left wing slightly, moving to expose the raw patch of flesh that remained where I’d cut those small feathers away. It had been a ridiculous idea, excising my own soulfire to make a child’s toy, but the act had been as joy-filled as it had been agonizing. It had felt like the sort of sacrifice a guardian might make.
I could have been that… A guardian, even a father figure or an uncle to the miraculous imp. My heavy sigh set the mobile into motion, and a few perfect notes spiraled through the empty space above the crib.
Now, to know that Precious would never see it, never hear those songs? That I would never have the chance to watch her grow or show her our realm… I thrust out my chin to stop the tears that welled, a trick I’d learned in the early years of my lonely vigil for Arabella.
I pressed a hand gently against my side, feeling the blood and ichor soaking through my robe. After I’d made the mobile and crib, I’d cut out tiny scraps of my flesh to make the rest of the furniture, spinning the soulfire with a rough-voiced song of creation into all the shapes a nursery would need. There were small sofas, cushions, a table with rounded edges, a larger bed sized for an adult, and—most importantly—a box I’d funneled a larger portion of my pure being into, and changed with an angelic word of power. It was filled to the brim with fruit and cheese, and would never become empty, not for thousands of years.
I knew Precious could make her own food, but someday, I thought that might change. And for anyone else who wanted to spend time with her here, while I did what I had planned—while I shaped Sanctuary into a safe enough haven for her to live freely within it—the box would provide sustenance.
I stared at the furnishings and toys, but my mind blurred my vision until all I saw was Feather’s face as she left. The pain and longing… for me? How could she want my friendship after all I’d done?
What was she doing now? Was she safe? Had they reached the Celestial Realm? Was she thinking of me at all?
I pressed my hand roughly into my bleeding side to derail the obsessive thoughts that were flooding my mind. I had to stop desiring her. She was lost to me. She always had been.
I lowered myself to sit on one of the small sofas, perversely proud of the softness of the velvety fabric. It was almost the same texture as my wings. Mikhail had said for thousands ofyears that creation was the closest he’d ever come to knowing pure joy. Rafe had also tried to show me how much pleasure could be found in all the arts.
As I had made this, I’d finally understood what they meant. Shaping this place, thinking of it, and bringing it into being, had been incredibly rewarding. Even if the experience at times had been more bitter than sweet—my closest friends, the ones who knew me best, thought me a monster.
I’d been gutted when I’d read the thoughts on the faces and in the minds of the battered, brave crew of misfits on the podium the day before. That Feather thought me capable of murdering a child in her arms, even after I’d sworn on my wings never to be cruel to her, seemed fitting.
I’d only ever hurt her. Why would she trust me?
And Mikhail… Well, he had been with me on Earth. He’d seen me intent on destroying the child, so he had a right to doubt me. But he’d forgotten the promise I’d made not to harm her, and had looked at me with suspicion and shock. I deserved that as well. I had damaged something in our friendship, and the seeds of that hurt had borne bitter fruit in that moment.
But Sunny and Righteous knew me as a fair ruler of Sanctuary, I’d thought. Yet even Righteous had seen my approach and gathered himself to protect the baby and Feather. When Sunny swore to take care of the child, her weak attempt at deception had only cemented how far I had fallen in her eyes. I’d known Sunny would never hurt the baby when I handed her over. I believed in her innate goodness.
But she didn’t believe in mine. They all saw me as cold, unfeeling.
I’d let them think the worst. They needed to care for Feather, not me. I’d left them alone and gone to conduct my interviews with Tradition and the Guide leadership.
Rage boiled inside me at the memory. I hadn’t been gentle in reading the Guides’ memories. In fact, I’d been so filled with righteous fire that at one point, I’d had to ask Perception to take my sword from me to keep me from killing the lot of them. With him on guard at the doorway to this level—as the only other High Angelus left in Sanctuary—they were safe from me, and the rest of the realm protected from their weakness. I’d decided I would keep them locked in separate rooms on this level, while I pondered their fates.
And then I’d calmed myself, and made stuffed toys out of my soulfire.
Grief buried me under an avalanche, and I welcomed the agony. Was this what being unmade felt like? Was this a punishment from the Creator?
Why would She even need an Abyss, when my heart was a vast, fathomless plain of loss?
I grabbed a pillow and scrunched it in my fists, before burying my face in it, wondering if a soul could survive the despair I was feeling. How had I imagined I could play some part in trying to care for a child? I had failed so utterly at caring for a realm, after all.
Better for Mikhail and Righteous to be gone as well… with Feather. She would be loved beyond measure. Adored as she deserved.
Cherished in a way I would never have been allowed to express. Perhaps now I could move past the shame of wanting Feather. Dreaming nightly of her. Wishing she were mine, and no one else’s.
Filled with shame and regret, I prayed to the Singer of All Songs for understanding, for hope in the darkness, and drifted into what had to be a dream, though it felt more like a memory. Or maybe a promise.
“Grumpy, did you forget what day it is? It’s chocolate fondue Friday. We can’t start without you.” Feather’s voice drew my attention from the musical score I was working on. I’d been trying to get the melody line right, but there was something missing. It was too... ordinary. I threw down my quill and stood, flexing my wings. “Show-off.” Feather’s small arm threaded around my waist from behind, and she ducked under my wing to stand in front of me. Her brilliant green eyes narrowed slightly. “You look tired, Grumpy.”
I couldn’t speak; I was breathless with wonder at her beauty, as I always was. She was shining so brightly today that I had to blink away tears as I stared into her face. Her cheeks were slightly pink with exertion, her lips swollen, and her gleaming hair tousled.
“Can’t start without me, hm? Then what have you been up to?” I teased, tugging on one of the strands. It felt like silk in my hands, and I lost the battle to focus on her face and ran my fingers through her hair a few times, until she made a soft purring sound. I suddenly noticed that there was a streak of chocolate on her neck that vanished under her hastily tied fuchsia robe.
“We were waiting for you, but you never showed up for our date,” she murmured, leaning her cheek against my hand. “We’re up to my top five fantasies. What kept you?”
“I’m sorry, love. I couldn’t get the melody right on this song,” I explained. “It’s too ordinary. Plain. It needs something.”
