Topic: Fallen Grace

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-05-18 19:15 EST
The treatments sometimes were tedious, other times the treatments were torture with the pain that could lance through her. It was enough to wish for a death that would never come. The administrators had determined that in order for survival to be obtained for the race there had to be alterations, and they hired on the finest scientists and genetic researchers to determine how to alter the race to assure survival. If anything the labs were structured to assure that the fittest and the finest would come out of the treatments. Playing God was something the administrators would not bat a lash at. The administrators had found a circle of prestigious individuals with the income to fund the genetic research labs. The circle was soon called the Order of the Sacred and Esteemed and the Order began to realize the potential to create a race that would be a benefit to them.

The Order called in demands for the new race to be established with a caste system and ranking from slaves to warriors, and from the esteemed to the Sacred that would forge their new world and civilization. The Order explained to the remaining members of the society that this was necessary and required for their first born to be offered to the Program to prove they were dignified members of society and that they were going through with their social obligation to assist in the survival of their civilization. It was the Grace of God, they would explain to the remaining members of society, that upon a time of strife and disease they would be given a full blooded Sacred to save them.

The remaining members of the civilization called the presence of the Sacred as a miracle and a blessing. In awe of the sight of a creature forged in a likeness so similar to their own appearance yet far more beautiful. Glistening skin, sinuous beauty, exquisite voices, and the presence that would set the Sacred separate from the rest' glorious wings. It was this vision of the creature in chains and the promise that they would take this gift of God as a martyr and miracle to help their society survive. A promise of Hope as the blood of the Sacred would be used to save them all" and perhaps, the Order promised, if they were lucky, to breed and create their own caste system of the Sacred.

There was no denying the sudden onslaught of willing members of society to offer their first born to the Program in hopes that one of their own offspring may become blessed, may become a Sacred"

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-05-18 19:17 EST
The Project had its flaws and its problems, but as time passed, two centuries of progress and their civilization was saved. The people of the Forgotten Lands for the first time in ages had hope. The beauty of the Sacred had flourished as day after day with the promise of a newborn's life there was the hope of another Sacred to be amongst them. Parents were addicted to the promise of having a child to become a chosen Sacred, to be blessed with that Gift. Families became envious and wicked, cruel and conniving when it came to their desire to have one of their own Sacred in their family. Young women dreamed and spoke in wanton whispers of their desires to lay with a Sacred, so that they in turn could create their own sacred children without the concern of placing their firstborn or any of their children in the Project.

Grace was the result of such a young woman's desire, a heritage of a line of young women who had done much the same. When her mother had seen Grace's soul piercing blue eyes as a newborn, she would have sworn that her daughter would surely be a Sacred. Much to her mother's dismay and disgrace, the blood of the Sacred had become tainted in the lineage and the Sacred blood only blessed the young girl, Grace by a mere quarter. Dissatisfied by this mutation, her mother had placed her in the Project in hopes that as a young girl, Grace might develop into a true Sacred rather then what the Order had come to call the Esteemed.

At the age of fifteen Grace knew she was different, when whispers were not really whispers on lips but thoughts she was overhearing. Those of the lesser caste ranking and even some of the Altered that were not viewed as Esteemed or Sacred began to whisper of her, and it was then that Grace learned how to build the walls" to shut out the world unless it was absolutely necessary for her to "hear- what the world was saying to her. It was in those quiet hours that she heard him.

An unwilling Sacred. Breathtaking to her eyes, Called to by her spirit. A private yearning of heart and mind when she realized" she could hear him' hear the thoughts of a Sacred.

It was her secret, a secret she would protect and shield with the last threads of her being. Things were never the same" when he realized" Grace knew. Knew him, knew his thoughts, his feelings, his wishes and hopes and desires, knew him maybe better then he knew himself.

As the years passed Grace began to realize, he knew her soul and heart as she knew his. Beautiful and cherished, it was a promise she kept. Despite all the rules and regulations, between all the rights and wrongs, Grace found herself bound to a Sacred" like he was the light in the darkness of her very soul?

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-05-20 13:42 EST
Long nights were spent in the possession of the Order. New tests, new alterations tried. Grace wavered, exhausted after fifteen long hours in the lab. Vitals stable and still it showed. Weary, soul piercing blues narrowed as another card was deciphered. A button pressed.

Ridiculous it seemed how they documented every little increase of her ability. How it was mutating, branching out and forging it's own structure. Not just Oracle anymore, her developments were fascinating. Some nights she didn't feel so blessed. Horrified of the nights when she was allowed to sleep and Grace dreamed of their death, dreamed of killing them. Those thoughts were not her own but still they fed into her mind like a fever of hatred.

Don't ever tell them what you know. Don't let me realize what you are capable of.

I won't....

That voice was salvation as much as destruction in her mind, infecting her thoughts. It was becoming difficult to decipher what was her own and what was his....or theres.

So tired.

Please....let me go.

Her voice held the weary resonation, hours without food or sleep were presenting visible signs. The Order said it was a determination of her survival skills. How much she could withstand. Savage as a wolf rabid in the night she darted out of the seat, fingers snapping around wrist of one of the many scientists. Her words were a piercing scream in his mind.

I want to go home!

Flinching. Not from the back hand that left red welt across cheek but the sound of shattering glass all around her. Mirrors exploded, jagged shards. Shivering her fingers clenched. Flexing and curling as those soulful eyes burned with raw emotion.

The scientist took a step back from her, jotted down a note with a murmur under his breath. The needle came then, no where to run as his fingers curled in her hair and jerked her forward. Whimpering sound echoed from her throat as a rage that was not her own roared in her head.

There was darkness then as the needle sank deep into flesh.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-05-30 07:37 EST
Trapped. The Order had her like just another prized possession of a glass menagerie collection. Voices had increased tenfold. It wasn't just the voice she heard from before but so many.

Sound could deafen. The room was cold, the floor colder still. Tendrils of hair feel before eyes that moved and flicked in a habit of the nervous, the wild. A caged beast.

Alone but not. The whispers moved through her like ghosts on her grave. Soulful blues took flight even as Grace was in motion, hissing at the scrap of metal against tile.

The shackle at ankle had worn flesh down to rawness, the nature of struggle apparent in the cobalt and lilac shades that blossomed bruises along her flesh.

She strained to see the window. Fingers raising in something near to martyr worship.

The voices had changed. Altered.

Harmony. They no longer spoke....they sang

So beautiful. Something to take her breath away. Grace would sink to her knees, head bowing before curling to the floor.

There was pain here but still remained the beauty. She longed to find the beauty. To see it with her own eyes.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-06-05 17:00 EST
"What do you hear?"

"The whispers. I always hear their whispers."

She had always heard his whisper far louder then the rest. Forgetfulness was not in her nature but now as she stood upon the grass, stained scarlet by the slaying of thousands of the Sacred, she could not remember why it all had been. This was something that far surpassed her nature of what could be seen.

"Come. I want to show you something Grace. It's time you met Him."

Him. The word held such reverence and adoration. Her mother's voice carried a worship beyond the respect offered to the Order of the Sacred and Esteemed.

It was not her mother's place to show her such things, these were sacred grounds. Surely not like the great buildings of Delphi, but all in a sense was a holy ground. Only the Oracles, the Seers of the Esteemed should gain entry to those "temples". Her mother was far from an Oracle and yet here she was leading Grace like she belonged in the Order, was now the Keeper of Grace.

Grace kept her head down, the slick black tendrils of her hair masking her face and the subtle frown that dared to claim her lips. Grace was ever familiar with the vision of the screen that held the liquid blue glow of ethereal energy, the shade of holy flame- the hue of the part that would burn the worst. Grace knew the pain, knew the keys. Familiar were those keys and that screen in her mind. Grace was the one who held commune with Jovah, the only one now. All the others had failed, he would only respond to her now.

Grace had become familiar with one solitaire emotion about Jovah. She did not like him.

Her fingers skimmed the keys. The first keys caressed, stroked. Her touch awakened those glistening symbols of obsidian on the blue glow of the screen before disappearing, devoured by that light.

Eyes that matched the shade of that screen lifted to her mother. Soulful those eyes were, rendering and tearing apart a spirit for its scrutiny and understanding.

"You should go now. It is better this way."

There was never a wait for response. Grace turned her back, focused her attention on the screen and the responses offered.

Later that night she would dream, carrying a vision of a conversation shared with another. One with a presence that beckoned to her, and with words that whispered in her mind. She heard him, and she responded. But on that night after the fresh spill of rain when he touched her, asked her if she had ever heard the voice of God" she had lied, bent the truth, twisted her words.

She never heard the voice of God" but oh she saw it' read the strange symbols and knew the answers before they appeared. None of it mattered, the voice, the symbols touched. Odd that Grace would be so indifferent to the word of the one claimed as "God" and yet shaken by a touch years later from one so broken, devourer of feathers? causing beauty in disaster.

A shattered vision, the glimpse into the future or perhaps the unraveling of time itself shivered and trembled and fell away. She bowed her head but hardly in submission, hardly in awe. Another key pressed and the commune continued on deep into the dark hours of the night.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-06-14 08:10 EST
There was blood. So much blood. The metallic taste of it was on her tongue, coppery warmth. Her own life flow melted and mated with that of another. It was the first time she had seen the Sacred this close.

Her hands moved, trembled before they clenched to fists to keep the need away to touch him. The warning in his eyes.

"Will you show us then Grace" Really child we do not like doing this more then you enjoy witnessing it."

"She is innocent....why not let her be. She did not choose this."

"No Grace she did not, but then you didn't either did you? The choices were made."

The bitterness of her tongue was a wicked taste to join the metallic. It was a strangely exquisite thing how emotions had a flavor for the Altered creation that Grace had become. Incapable of doing anything but to watch as she struggled in those chains. Far from Prometheus she seemed nothing more then a captive.

The blade of the scientist from the Project had made bloody ribbons of the other girl's flesh. The more that Grace had become a toy and test object of the Order the more she was becoming immune to blood and naked forms, indifferent to fear. Fear like ever strong emotions were swallowed down.

Something though clenched in the pit of her stomach when she saw the woman directed to the Sacred. Those soulful blues lingered on him even as his words burned a torch through the darkness of her mind. Filled that void with light.

An offering they were to make of this woman to the Sacred. To make him prepared and ready to offer the seed that would bear more of the Sacred. A taste like poison at her tongue. Jealousy knotted in her stomach and she shut her eyes to rid herself of the visual of that mating between the Sacred and this offering.

She felt the presence of the scientist before she felt the blow at her temple.

"Watch, Grace. Learn"

And she did as ordered, the finishing moments between the pair. The groans and cries that ever made her lost to the nature of pleasure and pain and which was which.

She had seen this event many times but never with him. Never to witness that particular Sacred. The mewling cries of pain as the offering was torn from the Sacred.

The chains fell away from Grace as the scientist pulled her towards the Sacred. Her intention and purpose was for other reasons. The scent of him, the basking afterglow of emotion and physical alterations near broke her spirit.

She struggled until that grip at her shoulder had her back bowing and arching in pain. These scientists ever would carry hidden weapons.

"You know what to do Grace. Tell us what you see." "Not today." "This is not your choice."

The scientist grabbed her neck, poised her mouth so deliciously close to that of the Sacred. The Order had learned a wonderful thing about Grace. The Oracle's 'gift' was only heightened by physical contact.

Her head shoved down only left lips to meet that of the Sacred, her Sacred, in a brutal claim of kiss that left his mouth to open to hers. Like a door, a window to the soul. Her tongue stroked and sought within the depths of that kiss and with the deepen of a kiss would the visions be pulled.

His hand held the back of her head, curled into the thick black curtain of her hair till it fell over his bare chest as a river. For a moment it was only the two of them that met her awareness. She heard his pleading whisper. To keep it all a secret. That if she was ever freed that she would not speak a word or prove that the intimacy of a kiss could open the world to her.

Her knees buckled when she was pulled away. Glorious light filled her head and her eyes rolled back in the fever addiction of the beauty of it. Laughter was an aria of sound as the Sacred was freed. Shackles removed before the scientist could even realize what had been done.

Oh Grace had seen too much. It would pacify her as the beauty of a Sacred became Savage. Tore into the scientist in a bit of revenge.

He offered to take her with him but there was a new flavor on her tongue, enough that left her standing there as he was free. His freedom was enough.

Sweet as candy. Thick as honey. Heady as Opium.

Passion. Desire.

These were dangerous tastes for the Oracle to be introduced to. Years later when an onyx feather would rest in the moon milk valley of breasts, she would learn of others...

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-11 07:22 EST
Pain. It was a close lover that was unwelcome in the bed. He had offered her escape but Grace knew better. This was her place. She screamed for the Order in those hours. Struggled against the devices that tore into her. Leaving soul as near damaged as body. It was better this way, the Oracle knew. Staying behind meant salvation, redemption for him.

The morning came,crawled across her skin. So cold the moon-milk cast of flesh had become. She burned in the mating of sun fire kiss to frozen flesh. Unrecognizable her mother was to Grace. Soulful blues would not see. Exhaustion and melancholy would become thick.

"Grace....come. It is time." "I will not show you..." "That matters not now."

Hours later there the pair. Mother and Daughter to stand upon the blood soaked rolling hills. Sulfer and Ember thick to saturate the senses. Grace felt a moment of panic, those soulfire blue eyes cast skyward to a once beautiful sky that now knew nothing but ash. Cinders and remains.

The moment left her knees to buckle. Fingers curling to come back with a snag of blood soaked feathers. Years laters, a moment as lush and enchanting as eternity, the Oracle knew her fingers would curl to blades of grass as they did now to feathers. That she would come to her knees. Overwhelmed by a shared claim of memories that would bond and bind Grace to another.

Paradox was time. Never a straight line but a looping, interweaving thing. Rich tapestry. Perhaps she dreamed of the future as she stared out at the end of her world. The lasting vision she would have of the Forgotten Lands before she would leave them.

Coming to her feet a blood born hand would touch her mother's shoulder. It would be the last moment she would ever see her family. The final moment she would see the Forgotten Lands. No one stop her. Once Grace had asked for Death, and the scientists had laughed. A Quarter Sacred left her meant for eternity.

Grace had seen the end. Had stood upon its shores and at its mountains and crimson stained grass and had not feared. Still with the interlude and lapse and lick of time and its alterings...when she found the angel of death in thoughts, in touch, bound with her she would wonder.

How he would draw her...His voice as strong and present to call as the one she had lost...

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-12 20:18 EST
~Music Inspiration for Post : http://www.youtube.com/watch"v=Jd896jwz8zA~

-Present Day-

Shivering. Trembling. It was not a withdraw from an addiction or a draw for a fix. No. Grace had never known such a temptation. Still when the rain kissed her awake she found herself shivering. Not from a down pour assault of rain that would stream like tears from her eyes till she near became confused. Was it rain or tears"

She couldn't remember any more. Couldn't separate her memories from those shared. It made her wonder as she had watched the Inn the prior evening, the lovers there....what an intimate moment would mean for Grace. How much would she take away' How much would she share with those to share an embrace with her....if just a touch....a caress of fingers could give her this.

A gasp. Pain that left her doubled over. Onyx feather at her chest stuck wet to her flesh, the black curtain of hair plastered to features. Her fingers curled in dirt. Memories swarmed and she cried out in pain. Was it the young girl's pain that Azriel could not save" Was it her own from all the tests and experiments her body once had been put through, was it the anguish of an angel that now questioned his own life"

The rain never felt so cold. She huddled under the tree. Seeming so small, near fragile and frozen at that moment. Terrified and wide eyed.

Never for the share of emotions and memories....but that feeling. Fit again. Like the bond to the Sacred, she heard his call in her spirit like a cry of destiny so faint. Closing her eyes she huddled, head in her arms.

She knew not what to do. Perhaps she should distance herself....but then....she felt....she could not stop the urge to see him again, even if she tried.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-13 16:54 EST
Because I could not stop for Death — He kindly stopped for me — The Carriage held but just Ourselves — And Immortality.

- Emily Dickinson

So many, throughout eternity, have had cause to flee him. And no matter how any of them have tried, no matter how fast they have run, no matter how they have pleaded or begged or wrung their hands or tried to hide from him, he has always caught them in the end...some sooner than others, naturally, and some later. Some come to him willingly once they finally realize that their flight is folly, and indeed some are almost glad to see him, though they are sad that he has come nonetheless. And others, despite the inevitability, despite the fact they know they have lost, fight fruitlessly...for he always wins. There are none that can get past him that live.

It is the rare person that truly seeks him out. Even those who seem, at first glance, to want to find him, rarely are ready for him when he comes, and nearly always turn back. Many a time has come when he has been able to let them go, and by the time they come to him again, they seem to understand better...but at that first attempt, they are afraid.

Though if he were to focus, he would be able to remember them all, for the most part he is content to let them lie in peace. Death comes to us all, whether we want it to or not, and none, not even those that are 'immortal,' can avoid it. They may take so long that he has to wait an eternity, but he is a patient being.

Now, though...this girl. She sought him out, because she was able to hear...something...somehow, she said, he had 'called' her.

He'd not called her, or at least, not in anyway he's aware of - his call is the call of the end, and those that hear it are loath to answer - indeed, most of them try to pretend they do not hear, if they can. But nonetheless, she had found him, had known who he was, had even managed to befriend Mortis, his faithful steed and, to date, his only companion. But all those things...they are not what troubles him now.

He had tried to forget. He had tried to push what he had seen to the back of his mind, as he had with the memories of all those who had bidden to come with him. He had tried to get her out of his head.

But everytime he thinks he has done it, he feels it in his mind.

The anger. The pain. The crushing feelings of guilt, the feeling of utter helplessness, the sadness. And what is most troubling to him is that he cannot tell if those feelings are hers...or his.

Flashes of memory - of a being most angelic, one whom in her mind is called the Sacred, tortured and tormented, the feelings of hope and despair, and even of love and fear and regret. Tests being done to her (him") that cause excruciating pain, of her solemn vow never to reveal what she knows about the Sacred she has bonded with.

And mixed in with them, the last memory of his former life - the little girl. The hate he felt, at himself as well as those assailing her. The guilt, the pain she had suffered, and he could do not a thing save to take her soul to the heavens.

Which are his" And hers?

He is certain of one thing, one feeling, one memory that is not his.

Passion. Desire.

Potent, heady feelings that he has never, in all of his existence, even thought of or felt for himself. And now, feeling them through another, he finds one thing strange...frightening and intoxicating at the same time.

He likes it.

But all these things came to him in a couple of touches. One caress, so light, and a touch of concern from him, had bound them inexorably to each other - he can no more get her out of his head than he could get himself. A lifetime of anguish, pain and despair, and one glowing moment of passion, so many strange memories that fill his head that are not his own...

He should stop this. Stop musing on it, stop the memorioes and the pain and the confusion and...all of it. He should turn it all off and just walk away.

He knows all this, as surely as he knows one other inevitable fact, as inevitable as the two of them meeting again...

...he can't.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-13 19:09 EST
~Music Inspiration~http://www.youtube.com/watch"v=HCI99p02ayU

Death. What would it mean for one step. Staring down in the dark chasms of an angry tide crashing against the cliff edge. Her toes curled to the ledge and she peered down. Below.

Hands thrown out, flung out to the side and her spine arched. Head thrown back leaving the black curtain of hair to tempt like fissures of shadow in the sea salt drenched winds.

Soulful blues stared out at a horizon where sea mated with night sky. Turbulent and Wild. Untamed and Deadly depending on the risk and the allure.

Shuddering a step was taken back from the ledge.

Are you here" Can you hear me still" Or have I lost it all...

Her thoughts reached out, questioning as she turned her face away from the moon.

She couldn't get that little girl out of her thoughts. The agony, the suffering for not offering a bit of salvation for that spirit. Her fingers clenched into fists. A scream ensnared, silenced by the wind.

It was so cold.

Shuddering she took another step away, turned her back to the moon and the horizon gleam of twilight mating and bewitching the sea.

Head bowed as she walked from the cliffs.

There were times the cliffs reminded her so much of the turmoil and wild emotion hidden in her soul.

No wonder she was so drawn.

Her eyes closed, images dancing behind the lids of similar cliffs she had stood on....or were they cliffs she was to stand upon' The past, present, future....it was so twisted in her mind. A tangled web.

There was no sea salt in those winds though....nothing more then torn feathers floating like harmless dandelion seeds and ashes in the air...

She never would be able to get the scent and taste from blood and fire from her tongue.

Now she would never not hear a helpless child's screams of anguish. The pleading. That innocent fragility....broken.

Where did her thoughts end and his begin" It was all a maze.

Amazing...

Had she been bound again? Grace no longer knew...but the temptation....the draw....was too strong to ignore.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-13 22:51 EST
He is here, most assuredly.

Death always comes, whenever he is called, and at the mere mention of his name upon her thoughts, he is there. Not more than a foot away, he stands, unseen to all, nothing more than a shadow in shadows, not visible even to her who had touched him so deeply. In this form, he comes, awaiting the moment when the soul departs the body, when they see him and finally understand that there is, alas, no going back.

There is a beauty to this stance that he's never realized before. Here, he can see how she got her name, her arms spread, head back, spine arched, standing at the edge of the precipice...she is indeed grace personified, and ready to embrace Death.

Embrace him.

No, he thinks. No...please...you can't do this...you mustn't.

And there, without thinking, though she cannot see, or indeed feel him there, he walks right up to her, so close that were he in a more corporeal form he would be able to feel the strands of her hair as they tickled across his cheeks, could touch her again...

What is he doing" Had he not thought to himself that it would be better for him to walk away, to stay away from her, to distance himself from this" Why is he here, trying to get her to hear him, trying to stop her from leaving a life that has caused her nothing but pain"

The image that presents itself to him is one that has played in his mind over and over again, the feeling of one single, tender, deep, loving kiss...and it is then that he realizes that, as much as it had left him in confusion and pain as her thoughts and feelings mingled with his, he realizes that were she to leave, he would be forever denied that sensation again...that joining that had left him both fearing and hungering for more.

Can you hear me" Grace, please...you cannot do this. I cannot be the one to take you to what lies after...I will not. I beg of you...please...don't do this to yourself.

To me.

To us.

And as soon as that last thought touches his mind, he sees her take a step away. And another.

Another new emotion - relief - floods through him, illogically, though he does not know why. Had she done it, he would do as he was bidden, and perhaps seen her soul to rest.

Gladly, he would, for after her mind had touched his and he had seen what her life had been, he could think of few that deserved it more. But - perhaps selfishly - he does not want that day to come.

Not yet.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-14 13:54 EST
~Music Inspiration ~http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmNtSVQrBSw&feature=PlayList&p=5C092494BCDC4322&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=18

Guidance. Direction. The moments made her restless as the night lingered on. The soulful blue depths of her eyes moved along that which she was familar with. His presence lingered with her. As if he had been there. Had remained.

From the descent from the cliffs she had found her place again in the sand, a drop down to knees as she immersed her arms up to elbows in the lapping waves. There was no baptism in the moment.

A close of eyes even as the tide lapped at her knees and arms, soaking the black wisps of fabric.

Miles of thoughts spooled and spiraled in her head. Those that were hers, those that were his, those that they shared. Really, perhaps anymore all of their thoughts were shared.

Fingers withdrew from the ocean, full moon widening of her eyes as another memory filtered through her senses. Coiled in the core of spirit as something near akin to sensual warmth. The burn on her cheeks flushing seemed like a fever. Her heart had never raced so....

A close of eyes. Fingertips came to her lips. Caressed the surface of lush offering of mouth.

Gasp of suprise left her stumbling back and coated in sand and left her skirt drenched.

Eyes snapped open. The memory had altered, had changed, had shifted.

No longer the Sacred that her lips had met and opened to, no longer the Sacred that she was forced to kiss to draw his memories and reveal secrets of.

It was no longer the Sacred that she kissed now in that memory that was not a memory any longer but some strange altering of vision. Now the moment was shared with Azriel.

Spooked by the stirring of spirit, the wild horse race of heart at that vision she shuddered, shook her head roughly as if to get the vision freed from her head.

No matter the draw, it couldn't be what he wanted.

Grace did not understand how one just met could mean more to her then the Sacred had.

More so....she couldn't understand...how the vision of that kiss caused such a visceral, empathetic, intimate reaction from her.

Nothing she ever felt could compare to the desire, the want, the need, the yearning her soul and heart, mind and body were embraced with at the notion of a vision of a shared kiss.

Frowning she dropped her hand from her lips....and she mourned....that the vision was not real.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-14 18:05 EST
They had been there...joined...so very close, closer than close. Despite the closeness, of mind touching mind, soul touching soul, the mingling they had gone through, they had not yet kissed...but nonetheless he could feel her lips on his, her tongue brushing at first hesitantly, then with increasing boldness, against his own...a memory of a vision she had had, only it was not the Sacred she had held so dear...but instead him.

He had been so full of her life, so caught up and filled with her memories, mixed with his, and he had not pulled away as he should have, but rather placed his hands upon her waist, as if to draw her closer, and her name was upon his lips...half pleading, half warning.

"Grace..."

And at that moment, they had been cruelly ripped apart by this Nexus that was ever pervasive in this realm. Whether by the fates, or some cruel trick of the Heavens, he did not know...but now, here, he rests, in the midst of a great, deep wood. His position, if one were to come upon it, is one of despair - on his hands and knees, head hanging down, eyes closed. So still is he that one would almost think he had been turned to stone.

He is caught up in a rapture of pure ecstacy, a blending of souls so complete and utter that he knows now he will never be the same. He knew that he should have avoided that touch, that he should have drawn away, that to go back would be dagerous...to give in to this need for more would change him beyond any hope of return.

And, indeed, there is no going back. There can be nothing that would keep him away, now, though still, he knows he should stay away.

But he cannot. Will not. Whatever it is she's done, whatever she has somehow infected him with, if he left now, never to return...

He cannot die. That is impossible, at this time. Death will never be his, for there will always be a need for him, as long as there is life. But to go away now would reduce him to a death of a different kind, the death of his soul, his heart, that he did not know he possessed until now. He must go back to her, either to have her rid him of whatever it is that she has done to him...

...or to claim her for his own, to be joined with her, bound to her.

He has come across souls uncountable, touched them all, taken them where they are to go, even had a few touch his own heart in a way...but never, in all of eternity, has it been thus.

What can he do' What must he do' He has found the answer that the Valendria witch promised, that she foresaw. What is he to do with it"

And how did she become so bound to him, in such a short period" What has done this?

No answers come to him. What does come to him, at long last, is the sound of hoofbeats. And as he looks up, there before him is the proud form of Mortis, his truest companion. At last, he stands and, as the horse draws even with him, pulls himself up astride the steed and turns him about, and the horse flies away towards Rhydin again.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-14 19:29 EST
~Song Inspiration~http://www.youtube.com/watch"v=akjHwk9 ur2Q&feature=fvst

She remained on the shores of beach. Perplexed. Wondering and lost in the notion of that which had become. A thought, a memory, had forged a bond between them.

Even with the Sacred it had not been this strong. With the Sacred it had been more akin to companionship to survive through it all, something to get through the nights. A voice of warmth in her head to keep her alive through those hours where she cried for death or wished the death of others.

Grace rarely was a cruel device or creation, but in those long hours in the lab of the Order of the Sacred and Esteemed she felt that way....felt violent and wild till the moment fell away. Subdued.

That in itself could be the drugs they pumped into her systems. Drugs and Tests that made her mind a weapon.

Something they realized when the room shattered and exploded into shards of glass around her, was her potential to be more then just a voice for the angels, or their commune to Jovah.

Grace could be a weapon.

Her fingertips curled in the sand as she stared out to the moon and wondered. What of this did she deserve"

Why her....was she worth it all in the end to have an angel fall for her?

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-15 16:30 EST
The cliffs.

This is where she was when the call came...one calling for Death.

And now, he is standing in her place. Not as she was, no...not a graceful pose, ready for Death to come and claim him. He is Death - he cannot claim himself. He is here, instead, hoping to see her...but lacking that, he stands in her stead, hoping beyond hope to feel her prescence.

She knows, now, that he was here that day, where she could not see, asking, begging, pleading with her not to take that final, fatal step. Why did he do it' He's not supposed to intervene. He's supposed to be impartial to matters such as this, supposed to be without emotion, without judgement, without feeling. Even now, since he has left the heavens because of the injustice of it all, he's supposed to be able to just let those that desire death come to him, rather than draw them away.

She had called for him. She had desired death, had been ready to step off this edge and into the next life...and he had stopped her.

And she, it seems, had heard him.

And had stepped away.

He looks down now, the turmoil of the sea crashing against the stone face of the cliffs beneath him matching his own feelings of turmoil, crashing against the stone walls of his mind. What is wrong with him"

With a feeling akin to rage, he throws his own arms out to the side, his head back, spine arched, and lets loose a primal scream, a yell of frustration, pain, confusion...anger...

If Grace were there, she would recognize the pose he is in. Though his arms are slightly curled, and his fists clenched, his posture tense rather than relaxed, she would indeed see the similarity.

At last, there on the precipice, he falls to his knees. There is, it seems, no outlet for this...this terrible ache he feels within. What is it' Why will it not go"

Unbidden, an image of Grace flashes across his mind. The two of them, standing so close...her hands on his cheeks, his upon her waist, in an embrace that anyone who has ever been in love would recognize - a pair of young lovers, on the very edge of their first kiss.

His heart trembles in his chest, the ache that has been felt as a pervasive pressure in his lungs and heart becomes almost unbearable, and yet his thought lingers on that image, not daring to let it go.

For a long time he remains in that pose, searching for an answer. It is some time before one comes to him, a whispered voice from one Valendria witch he had come across at the Inn one night...a few days prior to his first encounter with Grace.

"If I could but take that pain from you, I would...but I am not meant to I'm afraid. Perhaps you are destined for another."

Was this what the witch meant' Only the pain hadn't been taken from him, it had been increased...although it had been changed, mutated, reformed, into a pain that - strangely enough - is almost...pleasant"

He sits upright, his eyes wide. Love" Is that what this is"

Passion...desire...he had been introduced to these feelings, in a vicarious way, from Grace...that vision of her, kissing the one her thoughts had labeled the Sacred. As that memory surfaces, he feels - irrationally - a stab of jealousy that he wonders at. Why should he be jealous"

None of it makes any sense to him anymore, as he kneels there at the edge of the cliff. The waters crash against the stone below him as he watches, echoing the thundering of his own heart.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-15 18:07 EST
~Song Inspiration and also Grace's Song http://www.youtube.com/watch"v=3is556uGurY&feature =related ~

There was something to stir in spirit as she looked up from the waves that lapped at the sand. Head raised, over shoulder a gaze. Drifting to the cliffs.

Swiftly she stood, shocked at the sensation that he was there on the cliffs now. Swearing she heard that scream it tore at her soul.

Harmed her heart.

"Azriel!"

A cry. She had seen other Angels die, those Sacred that seemed meant to live forever and a day and yet all that was left now was a scattering of feathers in the breeze and the crimson rain of blood to wash like a river.

Standing on the shore her hands wrapped around her waist, held a touch where once his hands had been.

Shame.

She felt it for betraying the Sacred's memory of a shared kiss....with the sudden wish that it had not been the Sacred she had kissed, but the Angel of Death.

Love.

Fingers withdrew from claim of touch to waist for fingers to curl at that black feather that rested at her chest. Ever was she drawn to the angel sorts but the Angel of Death did more then speak to her. Call to her or beckon her...

He moved her. Would that moment on the cliffs last for eternity if she had stepped from the cliffs" Would life be permanently laced to his?

Why did she wish on these things as never before.

The requiem of her voice came then, tentative as she walked the shore. Grace's song was a beautiful and wistful melody.

Blue eyes stared out straight before her.

He was so high above her.

Perhaps she already had fallen too far.

No turning back. Her heart was a rhythm that seemed to beat for him.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-16 13:02 EST
The song drifts to him, a lovely melody, beautiful and at the same time, a little sad. What captures his attention is not the song...it's the voice singing it.

At first he is sure he must be dreaming, or else that he had wanted to see her so much that his mind had fabricated her voice, blending in perfect harmony with the crashing of the surf, the songs of the gulls, the rushing of the wind. Is it a cruel trick of his mind" Another memory of hers, so perfectly blended with his that he is able to listen to her sing a sad, lovely song that he has heretofore never heard..."

No. None of those things.

His questing eyes search the shoreline below, where he swears her song can be heard coming from, not daring to hope it is real. It can't be - fate would not be so kind to him.

But as his eyes alight on her form, he blinks. Then rubs at his eyes. And as a final test, he is about to turn away and look again, just to be sure, when Mortis, from behind him, whinnies, a sound of happiness, and gallops off, heading for the path that leads to the shore.

For a long moment, he simply kneels at the edge of the cliff, disbelieving his own eyes...but as he watches, Mortis emerges on the sandy shore, and gallops immediately for Grace, and it is only then that he no longer has any doubt.

Had she come to his call" Or had she been there all along, and he had failed to see her" He cannot tell, and it doesn't matter. He stands, finally, and begins walking for the path that Mortis took to the beach.

As he walks, it seems to him that the ache in his chest has grown both stronger, heavier...and yet lighter at the same moment. It is without a doubt the strangest, most curious sensation he has ever felt.

And yet, as he steps onto the path and Grace is no longer visible, he feals a touch of fear. What if she isn't there when he arrives...gone, like a phantom of his memories?

He begins to walk faster, afraid she will be there, terrified that she will not.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-16 19:51 EST
The joy of a pale horse was an unexpected thing to come toward her on thundering hooves.

Waiting. She paused in the sand with a genuine smile to warm her expression, bring life once more to her eyes.

Her palm held out as the beast approached, Mortis whuffing warm breath along her flesh.

Fingers gentle to smooth along the velvet of the death stallion's muzzle. A hushed murmur.

"Where has your bonded wandered off to?"

For a moment she feared Azriel had left them both. Sigh exhaled she embraced the beast, buried her face in the pale mane of Mortis. Breathed in his scent.

Perhaps she breathed in the scent of the Death Angel himself.

There was a fear. A hushed uncertainty. The deep feeling of loss.

Grace mourned.

And the tears fell, soaking into the Death stallion's mane before she even knew what had become of herself.

He was perhaps...her salvation....or her undoing.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-17 11:47 EST
There is, for an instant, a heart-stopping moment as he comes down onto the beach and turns his head to where he saw Mortis galloping. His eyes, for just that moment, see only his beloved steed, the only companion he has known for his entire existence, and not the lithe form of Grace. And then the horse shifts his position somewhat, as though sensing Azriel's thoughts of despair, as if to reassure him - which is most likely the case. The horse and its master are bonded in the deepest of ways, and for the longest time Mortis would only come to him.

Until now, that is.

For as Mortis moves, he is able to see her, her face buried in the horse's pale mane, her black tresses a sharp contrast to Mortis' pale locks. His relief that he had not been merely wishing her prescence into being is so great that, for just a moment, he is overcome with a strange kind of weakness, a giddy sort of feeling that rushes through him, and he falls to his knees once more in the moist sand, watching the two of them together.

The Grim Reaper is, for perhaps the first time, no longer grim. The look of wonder on his face as he watches the two of them is almost childlike on a face that holds within its eyes the weight and age of the world, and in that moment the Angel of Death looks young again, if ever he was. And for a long time - an eternity, it seems, to him - he remains there, on his knees, staring at the two of them together.

At last, words return to him, as if he had been held paralyzed by a spell and it has broekn once more. Once more, his lips form the words, only this time it is not a question, but rather a statement of relief and amazement.

"Grace...you are here..."

As those words leave his lips, Mortis moves his head, a swift but gentle motion, pushing Grace's tearful face out of his mane so she might see that Azriel has not fled, as she feared.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-18 08:22 EST
Despair.

Was that the soul wrenching feeling she felt at this moment' The feeling of everything falling out from underneath your feet. Sensation that the world was spinning and that you couldn't find a stable moment.

Mortis moved and her fingers curled into his mane in an act of worry, a revelation of fragility.

Disbelief in spirit. Hand pushed the black curtain of hair from her face, away from eyes. Better to see.

There were moments in her life where she felt alive. Where the torment of the past would not haunt her. That the long nights in the Order, the tests did not seep through her memories and consume her.

This was one of those moments. The very moment.

Grace was not familiar with the notion of love. The notion of completion of spirit, heart, soul by the presence of another.

The Oracle had cared deeply for the Sacred. How could one not when they shared thoughts that bonded them so with a Secret"

As Mortis nudged her away from him towards the Angel of Death and Azriel's voice filled her ears, Grace just knew.

Knew that this was more then the sensations stirred within her soul from the Sacred when a bond was shared.

No emotions had found her with Azriel. It was not just the bond or the secret that mattered.

The bond between them had found her emotions weaving through that bond. Held to Azriel deepr then she ever imagined.

When she moved to him she sank down to her knees into the sand in front of him.

"I'm here Azriel."

Soft. The requiem of voice was losing the tragedy in his presence. Did he realize that he was healing her, gradually making her whole"

A slide of hands to capture his face, rest of brow to his. A close of eyes.

Did he know he was teaching her, making her understand what it was to love?

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-20 22:51 EST
If he had not known it before, he does now.

For days, since they had been cruelly torn apart from each other by the Nexus, as he had made his way back to Rhydin, he had, for the first time in his existence, been painfully aware of just how empty his life truly has been. Prior to this, he had not noticed - he had only become aware that he wanted something more over eons, and that gradually, as the world worsened, as those that lived became more and more morally corrupt....as evil and cruelty had taken over the world, and those that are innocent are punished.

He had not known what more he wanted other than vengeance on those that punished the good and pure. Even now, he wants that, but since meeting Grace...something else had pushed its way in.

And now, that emptiness, that frustrating ache, that void he had not known what to do with, is completely filled. Her thoughts - not just memories now, but her thoughts and feelings and her memories of thoughts and feelings that had coursed through her as they had been apart - surge into him.

And likewise, his into her.

Did she know that everything she had been learning from him, he had likewise been learning from her - her thoughts, her memories, her feelings injected into him like some insidious potion. Every bit as addictive as any drug that he had seen, but not deadly...or is it"

He hopes not.

As her thoughts cascade over him, their emotions comingling in the most intimate way, he can see everything she has been thinking of...and imagining. And in it, he sees again, the image of her kissing...him"

His own eyes close, hiding the crystal-blue eyes once more. Before he is aware of what he is doing, before he has time to think of it, he is drawn in. His hands again find and slip over her waist, this time not pausing there, but sliding smoothly around to caress the small of her back. At the same time, the image they had both had in their heads suddenly becomes flesh as his lips find hers.

The first touch of his lips to hers is gentle, tender, a whisper of a touch, almost hesitant. And at the same time there is a sensation that feels almost like an electric shock, as the connection between them is amplified by the intimate touch to almost painful intensity.

The second touch, however, is even more intimate...his lips fully capturing hers, and for a moment it is almost to him as if they are one - everything that she is crashes into his mind, and likewise his to hers. All the tragedy, and the triumph - the joy, the sadness, all of it. His lips hold to hers as though he has waited his entire long existence for this one moment.

He doesn't realize, even now, that it is entirely possible that he has.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-21 06:27 EST
It was complex and lovely that sensation. Grace reveled in it with a near unspoken pleasure. Even unspoken that pleasure could be sensed. Shared in the bond.

This moment made her believe. Gave her faith again. Made the Oracle hold on to those threads of hope with a bit more certainty.

She had lost the Sacred, the severance of that bond had made her torn. Surely he could sense that now. The savage wounds inflicted in the spirit by loss, by the burden of the past.

Grace found wonder in the moment that he held the same wounds inflicted to his own spirit. That she perhaps was healing him as he was healing her.

The first brush of his lips to her near left part of her soul wanting to weep with joy. Relief. A whisper of a gasp against his mouth as that contact was amplified, kindled the strength of that bond till her memories, emotions, thoughts were poured through him as liquid fire.

Her hands moved from his face, brushed at his neck before her fingers became more daring. Hands sliding down his back as the kiss intensified, deepened.

Glimpses in her spirit would show so much of her life that surpassed and through it all was Azriel, a bright burning smolder in the center of her soul. The emotions that embraced him in her soul, her heart, her mind were intense. Unlike any she had ever known. The kiss spoke volumes, she lost herself to it like she was dying and his mouth was a life giving cup.

For a moment she wondered if a kiss could intertwine souls, bind hearts, unite flesh till two halves made a whole. Completely one. That kiss made Grace want to melt into him,through him. To be one. It felt safe. He felt like her soul's home.

So easy to be known then that emotion. Grace loved him.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-21 18:01 EST
Time slows, stretches out, as this feeling washes over him. He's heard love described as a searing fire, a flame of the soul that washes over the entirety of the being, burning away the hurts and wories of the one experiencing it.

As their lips embrace, as their tongues touch and entwine as they become bolder, surrendering to their own desires, as his heart and soul becomes entwined and intimately connected to hers, he realizes that words could never truly describe the sensation. He's no poet, not a bard of any kind, and so words would fail him forever after to describe what he feels now, except to say that, for the first time, he is completed.

He had left his station in the Heavens, disenchanted with his life as a being whose sole purpose was to ferry those souls that were bound to the life after to the place they needed to go - the virtuous to their everlasting bliss, the wicked to their eternal torment. He had cut his ties when he was seeinf too much of the former caused by the actions of those that deserved to burn.

He had felt the loss of that leaving so keenly that he had felt empty...lost. He had been connected to the Divine, and upon leaving he had been without purpose...empty...adrift in a sea of sorrow. And yet he had stayed the course, hoping beyond any hope to find something better.

This, he realizes, is what he was seeking.

His hands have rested on her lower back, just above her hips, and now they gently drag her closer, so her form is pressed firmly to his, closing their connection that much more. He wants to feel her pressed against him at every point, to be able to feel that connection he had missed so dearly to its fullest. The feeling is one of complete, chaotic bliss, so many of her experiences and his intertwining and meshing together that, for a time, he cannot tell who is who...where she ends and he begins.

And then, for a moment, all is silent. All is dark. There is nothing for him to feel, until it happens.

The Divine...

He feels the connection, coming, strangely enough, not from himself...but through Grace, through that strange connection to the Heavens she herself has, that has been opened in this moment of connection to him. They have found him!

He is unable to move, unable to get away from her, for fear that she will be punished, as he surely will be, as he deserves for deserting the Heavens, for leaving his place in the established order.

It takes him a moment to realize that he can still feel Grace, her touch, her lips, her happiness and his own at finally finding something to complete two torn, crushed souls. And, at the same time, he feels the Divine's love...and forgiveness.

He feels perhaps an instant of relief before he hears that Voice, speaking to him.

Yes, Azriel, you are forgiven - always you have served faithfully, being the chief of my Messengers of the Afterlife...but there is still to be a consequence. An Angel, you still are - to strip you of that would be to punish this soul you have become so entwined with, and she has been punished enough. No longer, however, are you an Angel of Death, of the Heavens. As you have so desired, so you shall be...an angel of VENGEANCE, to be among mortals and to be as mortal as they are, though you shall live longer than any...but no longer hunted, no longer alone, no longer without PURPOSE.

This happens in the time between eyeblinks, so fast that any normal person would not know it had even happened. And as the connection to the Divine closes, he feels another open - one to Grace. One that cannot be cut off again. And with that, he feels something else.

Warmth. A heartbeat. Toush, smell, sensations he had not ever known with such intensity before.

He can FEEL Grace beneath his hands, as he is brought back to the world, feel her against him, so agonizingly, maddeningly close.

He feels his heart pounding, demanding oxygen, demanding that he BREATHE...and at last, he pulls, reluctantly, away, taking a deep breath of salty air...his very first. And on that outbound breath, a sound of pure, exultant joy escapes him...again, for the first time.

The sound of joyous laughter.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-21 20:51 EST
Complete. This is what it felt. This sweet intoxication. This bliss. Romance and Passion. Desire and Tenderness.Her fingers worked at his spine, melded and kneaded at his flesh.

Contact of mind, of soul, of heart, and now body was an unexpected bliss for her to be ironically graced with.

When he pulled her closer she submitted. He easily could draw her strings like a puppet and she would move for him. Her arms embraced him as her body pressed to his. Close that intimate closure, the lack of space between.

Did he know how in tune she was with the angels? The Sacred. Heavens above. How perhaps she heard that conversation he had now with the higher power. If she did she made no note of it.

Still she was blissfully aware of the alteration. The change in him.

She found her eyes flicking towards the heavens and she smiled as she heard him laugh.

It was the most beautiful sound she ever had heard.

Forces In Motion

Date: 2009-07-31 15:07 EST
The feel of her in his hands is completely intoxicating - her body pressed against his, her hands on his back. As she moved them up along his back, as she reaches the place where his shoulder blades should be, she would be able to feel something that hadn't been there before.

Feathers. Joined to wings.

Red wings, red as blood mixed with the flames of passion, in this sunlight looking as if they are ablaze, spreading out to each side.

Save for that, and the newfound sensations, the feel of life-giving blood coursing through his veins, the smell of Grace as she is pressed against him and air in his lungs, even the sand beneath them...not much has changed.

He looks back down at her, his dark eyes still shining for a moment with light - only now, it has changed. Rather than the pale, ghostly light that had flickered in them, like foxfire over a grave, the gleam is now like flames, bright, warm flames as he looks into her.

And he can feel her! Every experience of hers is now his, and his likewise are hers, so closely have they mingled.

"Grace..."

He breathes her name, aware now over the feel of every letter of her name as it leaves his lips. He leans in close, his lips brushing over hers, and he is pleased to find again that electric tingle as they touch, as well as the shock of deeper connection, deeper than he had felt with any soul he had ever taken to its final destination.

He whispers softly, delighting not only in the feel of the words as his lips shape them, but the delicate feel of her lips as his brush over them with every syllable.

"You have claimed Death for your own, and made him live...thank you, my love."

His arms wrap fully around her, strong limbs that press her fully against him as his lips touch hers again.

Ever Fragile Wings

Date: 2009-07-31 20:22 EST
Love. To be claimed by the angel of Death as his awakened so a relief, a freedom in her spirit.

The way he said her name made her smile, fingers searching to understand every part of this angel that was now hers.

A wonder, a delighted sound as the caress of her hands found feathers. Wings.

Grace peered around him with a spark of fascination. Fingers smoothed through his feathers.

Blood red. Phoenix sun the blazing glory of his wings.

Wide eyed wonder then at a fleeting thought. Vision. Memory.

The image of her standing in the destruction of her people's fury and jealousy of the Sacred.

Holding feathers in her hand once ivory now coated in blood.

In the light of a scarlet sun those feathers had glistened like a phoenix's possession.

Gasp exhaled.

The Oracle near reeled back with the revelation of a vision, a moment of her life that made sense.

Had that moment of her life meant more then she realized?

"Azriel...you have given me more then you know. My Angel."

He was hers.

Shuddering with the truth of it, unable to shake that vision from her thoughts.