“It was my choice.”
“She threatened you.”
I wiped away a bit of gold on your forehead and placed a soft kiss on your temple.
“She’s a horrible person,” you said.
“She’s not a person, Orlando. She’s a demon.”
You started crying then. Quiet, passionless tears that leaked out the corners of your eyes and dripped into the water. I rubbed your back and waited.
“I was so scared… I thought you were going to die… and their screams… then I knew it was all because of me… because I didn’t listen… and what are we going to do now?” Your voice escalated as you started to panic.
“Shhhh,” I whispered. “Right now, you’re going to help me wash, and then we’re going to change into something comfortable and wait for a visit from a very powerful being. And since there is nothing more we can do, we’re going to stay calm andbreathe, breathe, breathe.”
You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your heart slowed and your limbs relaxed. When you turned back around, you looked drained and defeated.
“You’re still very bloody,” you remarked with less passion than before.
I nodded. It had congealed in my hair as well. I pulled out the band that held back my hair and submerged my head underwater. When I surfaced, you were ready with the shampoo.
“Put your head on my lap,” you said, and I scooted back so that I could rest my head on your thigh. You spread my locks across your legs as you slowly lathered my hair, using the showerhead to rinse away the filth. The sensation of your fingertips combing through my hair and massaging my scalp soothed me, and I closed my eyes for just a minute and imagined us both far away from here and enjoying these simple pleasures.
I wasn’t a greedy man. I didn’t seek power, coin, or glory. I only wanted to take you with me to my islands in the Mediterranean and live there in peace, unmolested by angels and demons. My tiny kingdom by the sea where I could rule over my one beloved subject.
Could I still have that?
Once we were clean, I toweled you off, and we donned the obscene clothing of my mother’s servants. I didn’t care to face Azrael in such attire, but my armor was bloody, and nudity wasn’t a better option.
I lay with you in bed. You were utterly exhausted and fell asleep without any help from me. I then scouted our room—two open windows and a door. I glanced down the hallway to find the atrium still bustling with people. The soldiers weren’t flagging in their duties and only glanced at me from the sides of their eyes as I passed. They edged away just a little, as if I might cut them down if they came too close. Just when I’d resolved to get some sleep myself, the same soldier from earlier came to our door to inform me that Azrael had arrived.
Shortly thereafter, an older man dressed in full military uniform entered the room. His dress was all black, with shining gold medals and accents, including the double-diamond emblazoned over his heart. When Azrael’s spirit inhabited human forms, he tended toward figures who conveyed wisdom and authority.
I immediately dropped to my knees and bowed my head until my nose pressed against the cold, marble floor.
“Rise, Henri.”
I sat on my heels. I’d not make myself the same height as one such as he. I didn’t plead my case, only waited for him to absorb our surroundings and the events that led us to this assembly. I waited, with trepidation, for his judgment regarding your everlasting soul.
“You fought well,” Azrael said at last. “There were very few human casualties, and their souls have been recovered.”
Casualties was a term used in battle. But this? This was an orchestrated slaughter.
“That’s encouraging.” I bowed my head humbly to acknowledge his praise. “What of my mother and brother?”
“They are being pursued as we speak.” His vexation at that was apparent in his tone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. The bond of blood was a complicated thing.
“Is this the human who traded his soul so that you might regain your bloodborn body?” Azrael motioned to your sleeping form.
Even though I knew the seriousness of this encounter, I couldn’t help but swell with pride at your introduction. I loved you with all of my being. My love made me blind to your faults, and I didn’t see how anyone, even the almighty Azrael, could not acknowledge the purity and honesty of your soul. You’d sacrificed for me. That kind of devotion from a human to his god should be rewarded.
“This is Orlando,” I said, gazing upon you with tenderness. “My beloved.”
“You understand the rules of angelic law,” Azrael said. “This human made the trade without compulsion, and though it wasn’t out of greed or malice, it was nonetheless a self-serving act.”
I nodded contritely. Azrael, as with most angels, didn’t have much sympathy for romantic love and the passions it ignited. They dealt in reason, judgment, and caution. It was one of the causes for the schism so long ago. Many religions interpret “the Fall” as beings who have fallen from grace or been expelled from the holy realms. But another interpretation was that the Grigori angels had fallen for humankind—their customs, rituals, and passions. They’d deserted the spirit realm to inhabit the earthly one and traded their all-knowing celestial bodies for debased human ones.
Angels viewed the human realm as largely beneath them, the lowliest of lows. It was insulting to know their own kind preferred it.
