"Orchids and Rain."
"Just like Sterling Silver Roses and Cedar."

Her smile moved as she found her sister's reflection in the fountain of the Dark Lore Garden.

"It has been a long time, Saga."
"So it has. Will you stay now."
"For a time."
"Perhaps you should stay. There is plenty of room."
"Perhaps."

The haunting allure of her sister's voice stirred old memories, old feelings in the Angel. Great and Terrible Beauty to meet the Tragic Elegance of an Angel that had felt far too much in the prior years.

"I have heard much of you, sister mine."
"I am certain you have."
"Saga..."
"I know. We do not speak of these things."
"A terrible loss."
"Hush. He will never know."
"I will."
"That makes all the difference."

Secrets played in Silverlana's smile. "A wolf and a spider now?"
"Times change many things."
"But the heart does not change what it is drawn to."
"No Silverlana, it does not. Be careful where you tread."
"Should you not be as concerned sister?"
"I am not the one who will love a demon like her undoing all over again."

A hardness set to jaw. Looking away those smoke quartz eyes offered revelations in reflection to those to stare in her eyes, offering nothing of herself. This was one thing that the sisters shared.

Secrets and hidden hearts.

"I will not fall again."
"So you say but it has been seen."
"It is not felt."
"No... not yet."

A sigh exhaled. Looking to the moonlight and shadow patch where Saga once had stood.

Alone again she found herself staring at the sky, fingers trailing the ancient language ever imprinted upon her flesh in red henna ink stain.

Never again she had foresworn... but in the dark of the night when the dark clouds had swallowed the moon... Silverlana had to wonder.

Could foresworn promises of her own heart be broken?

Damnable Fate. Damn it all to hell. Damn him to hell before he broke her heart.

A close of eyes. Steeling her will again.

She would not be broken.

Telorrcanis.

A demon meant to kill her. Like his brothers and his kin he was no different. Arrogant and nothing more then a puppet on strings.

She walked in the marketplace, ignoring the odd looks cast her way as her fingertips brushed the forgotten language written on her arms in the red henna ink.

Perhaps it was the way that her touch caused the written symbols to react. Glisten.

Halo light and wings long would be that which she would not flash.

Why was he so burdened by her willingness to offer herself to death?

Of course she would fight, she would serve that dance as it was meant to be served.

Cruel and beautiful dance.

He was after all nothing more then an unleashed hound with the scent of her on his nose.

To him she was just an order. The prey. Just another enemy.

Brow furrowed.

To survive meant to kill him.

Death was not so frightening to her, she had come back no matter how many times death had claimed her.

At least this time death would be based on the clandestine boon of being born to hate and kill those that betrayed and lied.

Silverlana though found herself so unwilling when she knew well enough angels were just as flawed.

That and she couldn't shake the burden in her spirit that she had no desire to destroy the demon.

Sighing softly she continued her walk through the marketplace, ignoring those watching eyes.

Knowing some of them belonged to the Watchers in disguise.

Knowing that she would die because she did not have the heart to kill him.

Obeying means the loss of honor.

Insubordination means death.

Obeying means killing off the reason he is what he is now. It means the light of his life now will be extinguished. It means killing himself, even if only in a figurative way.

It means blinding himself after having been given the gift of sight.

Disobedience means a life of persecution, of danger and possible death not only for himself, but for Silverlana.

Obedience means...

He is sitting on the precipice of a cliff, listening to the crash and thunder of surf, weighing the good and the bad. Pros and cons.

it's a pointless exercise, anyway. He's already chosen his path.

He chose it two days ago.

He had been watching her, as always he has been since he had made up his mind, from afar.

Silent.

Watchful.

Protective.

Covetous.

Three of them had come, as silently as can be expected of demons. Simply appearing behind him, he had known they were there. The stench of sulpher that always seems to accompany his abyssal brethren had alerted him, as well as his own senses.

How sweet that scent had once been to him! A perfume as lovely and sweet as the scent of roses is to humans and most other mortals.

Now, the smell of it makes him feel like spitting in disgust to rid himself of its lingering touch.

He had watched her for a moment longer. Facing away from the hunters, fortunately, they had not been able to see the softness in bloodred eyes, the smile on his lips not that of the predator...

...that of a lover.

He had changed it to his normal, stone-hard visage as he turned to them.

"My brothers."

It takes an effort to greet them as such. To call them brothers is as alien to him as calling a human the same. He feels as different from them as he is to an angel.

The first one speaks softly, a smile on his lips. "Telorrcanis. Troubles? You were told to kill the angel, and you have not yet done so."

He waves a hand dismissively. "No trouble. I have not been able to find the time or place...she is rarely isolated. Killing her will be no trouble."

How much effort it took to act so dismissive, so nonchalant, none will ever know. Just speaking the words trheatens to rip him aprat, making him ache inside.

He cannot kill her.

Will not.

The second speaks, a faint smile on his lips as if he already suspects the truth. He leans slightly, looking over Telorrcanis' shoulder at the angel. "And yet, she is alone now. isolated."

The third speaks then. "Come, Telorrcanis. The time will never be better. We have been sent to rid you of this latest threat. The four of us will make short work of this. You can move on to other things."

The first speaks again. "Indeed. Come, my old friend, let us help you end this."

Telorrcanis turned away, looking back at the angel.

His angel.

The one he cannot...will not kill.

Or allow to be killed.

He takes a step forward, sensing the other three following him. He can almost smell the relief from them, the way they relax, as though they actually believe he will do what he was ordered.

The action comes so smoothly, an eternity of being Hell's chief assassin guiding him into instinctive motion. The power courses through him, and the blade formed of Hell's own flames blooms to life in his hand. A fluid, whiplike lunge to the right, a movement so natural it is as easy as a shrug, brings the sowrd up and around, slicing cleanly through the neck of the first hunter. Even as the body crumples, it is disintegrating, fading to little more than dust and ashes and fire.

The other two growl and move to spring back from him as he whirls, the blade of fire cutting through the air. The one behind him just makes it, but the third doesn't see it coming in time, his head coming off. the blade whips around and down, cutting through the demon's midsection - an unnecessary gesture, but Telorrcanis is in full battle frenzy, not caring what is enough and what is not.

The second demon, still alive, snarls at him in a gutteral voice. "Traitor!"

It is the only word he gets out before an orb of electric fire sprouts from the demonic hand of Telorrcanis with enough force to blow out his chest. The demon immediately bursts into flame, dissolving into a mass of fire.

Immediately, he had turned to see if there were any more attackers - to see if, perhaps, this had been a distraction.

But she was gone.

He had been here since then.

Why? Why had he done it?

He had seen her a day later. Punished, bleeding.

Injured.

The sight of her had moved him enough to offer his own life up to her, to spare her from further harm.

She had refused.

This strange...feeling...a feeling so achingly strange, nebulous, that he can't comprehend.

Like nothing before in the whole of his existence.

The demon - so long in existence, so much killing done, so many of his perceived enemies extinguished - had fallen in love with the enemy.

And fallen hard.

The cliff again.

He had not seen her, had not been able to find her since the day at the Great Hall.

And he can feel that loss as acutely ast though someone had cust out his heart...if he were to have one.

He'd never thought to check to see if he does or not, truthfully - the thought had simply never occured to him. After all, do demons have hearts?

They must, if he can feel this sharp of an ache in that area. As though some vital part of him had been torn from his chest, and the empty, gaping hole left behind throbbed painfully as a reminder of something lost.

Only it's not lost. He knows where it is.

Silverlana has it.

A part of him worries.

Why should he worry? She was an enemy, wasn't she?

Perhaps. But an enemy that had taken his heart for her own, and one that had given him a greater reason for the conflict he had served so blindly in for ages upon ages. One that had given him a greater reason for being, one that had opened his eyes.

He holds his hands before him, hands that had killed legions of Silverlana's kin.

Hands that had killed humans.

And finally, hands that had killed his own brothers.

And now, he doesn't know if the one he had done it for had turned away from him, or if she was dead...

He doesn't know. Looking high, looking low, he has been unable to find her.

"Silverlana, where are you now?"

He sighs, softly, turning away from the cliffs.

What good does it do to ask the air?

Almost like wishing on a star, a simple and silly human ritual that he has never really understood. As soon as he had asked the question, he had been able to feel her presence again. Well, not that, exactly - it was more as if something pulled at him, tugging him in a certain direction.

A trap?

Instinct?

Does it really matter?

If it is her, and not some strange magic his own kind - or hers - are working to lure him in, to end his existence, then he has to go.

And if it's not her, and is only some sort of trap, then they can do him the favor of ending his life.

He no longer wants it, if Silverlana isn't in it in some form or fashion. he hasn't had a reason to exist beyond his - until recently - sole purpose in life, and he's gleaned very little satisfaction from that.

And if she's not where he's being pulled, then he loses nothing in the end.

He closes his eyes and focuses on that subtle tug, breathing deep, feeling the air and indeed the entire world shimmering around him. There is a moment of complete silence as he travels in his own unique way, and when sound comes back to him, he is standing just behind the one he is seeking.

For a long moment he simply watches her, that empty, torn feeling vanished as if it had never been, his eyes on her back, looking over the lines of her shape that he had - though he's seen them so few times - completely memorized.

It takes a moment for the scent of blood to register in his senses.

Not just any blood.

His eyes widen, blood red and glowing, in shock. His voice is soft, almost unbelieveing as he speaks to her. "What...what did you do?"

The scent of that blood is unmistakable. His eyes wide, glowing red orbs in his features as he walks around her, transfixed by the smell.

He should know the scent of that blood. He has spilled plenty of it in his time.

The blood of angels.

Sadness shows on features that are not built to show it, that have for ages since time began have been filled with ferocity, or else cold detachment. As he kneels before her, sinking down with her amongst the roses, taking her bloody hands in his.

"You have damned yourself..." The words are spoken at near a whisper, the growling, gravelly tone of his voice almost, for the first time, smooth. His eyes roam over her, taking in her bloodstained visage, closthes, hair, hands.

So much spilled, because of him.

Finally, his glowing eyes come up to meet hers. The smoldering coals of those depths has dimmed somewhat, and for a moment they look almost human in their grief for her. "You should not have done this thing for me, Silverlana."

He doesn't think of it as the same, killing his own brethren. Really, it's a very common occurrence - demons kill each other all the time. He'd long since accepted it as a fact of life, of being a demon. Someone may stab you in the back to get what you have, whether it be power, prestige, position, or all three.

It takes him a moment to realize that - in this instance, at least - him killing his own is, in fact, very different.

He hadn't wanted what they had. True, he had betrayed his own, but had he done it for his own gain?

No.

He had done it to protect Silverlana...to keep her among the living.

And would gladly do it again, without hesitation, without a second thought, without remorse.

Is what she has done so different from that?

Perhaps not...but a demon killing a demon is accepted. And angel killing angels...not since the first fell from grace has he heard of such a thing happening. The tragedy of her choice leaves him filled with remorse, as if he had killed them himself and, somehow along the way, gained a conscience.

That she chose him over her own, though also drive other emotions into place, ones that he thought he had felt before. To him, in this moment, it is as if the are new, as if he had never truly felt them before.

Joy.

Pride.

Happiness.

Those glowing red eyes show so much feeling in them that they brighten to a color that is nearly radiant, rather than burning, brooding, bloody. The touch of her lips to his, sealing his fate, his destiny, drives yet another into the mix, one that threatens to burn him from within with the violence and ferocity of its purity.

The first hopeful, fluttering wings of love.

When he is finally able to find his voice, it is rough, almost choked. Still there seems to be more of a human sound to the demon's voice.

"I would not have wished for such a choice to be forced upon us, Silverlana...and yet, as wrong as it seems, I am...happy that we are here."

A smile touches his lips. For a moment, he wonders at it, that it should seem so different from any smile he has felt on his face before.

It takes him a long moment to figure out what it is that seems so different.

Not the cruel smile of the hunter, of the assassin, of the killer.

This smile is...kind. And a touch teasing. It nearly makes him laugh as he finds his voice again.

"No offense intended, my angel...but we really should get you cleaned up. If you'll pardon the expression...you look like hell."