Thread: The Consequences of Falling [AngelicGrace & Bathos]

Something in the air shifted while Midael was waiting. Something insidious and sour filled up the room, for a moment just long enough for Midael to turn his head and catch a glimpse of black hair and a closing door. Demon , his mind supplied, and his heart sank. He knew it was inevitable that such a creature would find its way to this would-be Anti-Christ, but he was hoping he would have the benefit of first contact. The secretary went on hailing Mr. McGrew on her intercom, but Midael's interest had already moved on. He followed the demon trail, ignoring the secretary's nonplussed exclamation of hey! He went to the door, pressed close as he hesitated before twisting the knob. His heart rate was elevated, he noticed. His breaths came more quickly, too, in smaller puffs. He felt sweat dampen the skin of his palms and an erratic, crackling energy moved through his limbs. Stress. This is my body's reaction to stress. Midael wondered how many times in the past he had felt such an emotion, but lacked the proper tools for detection. Mr. Smith! the secretary snapped, and she had a wrath all her very own now that Midael had broken her prim protocol, but he dismissed her without a gesture, and pushed on into the room where the demon had just gone. The room he crossed into was a large one, set in the corner of the building with walls of plate glass. The city stretched out beyond them in both directions, a forest of right angles and steel girders, a tribute to the ingenuity of Man. Behind a wide mahogany desk, there sat Mr. McGrew, only now he was getting to his feet and looking ready to toss Midael out on his ear. And standing beside him. And standing beside him. Midael swallowed, clenched and relaxed his hands. Standing beside Mr. McGrew was the source of his greatest distress. There it was, with hair and lips and a body made to bewitch. Midael had sat alone in quiet contemplation since the dawn of Mankind, and all of it was over this creature and her kind. A toxic mix of sorrow and hate and terror and bile rose up in his throat and he stumbled back, pressing the door shut behind him just as the secretary was rushing forward to make her apologies. The Fallen. Midael felt sick, like something in his belly was twisted and blackened. It broke his heart to see it. There was a time, before Man, before the casting out of their brightest star, when the Fallen were whole. They were happy, and they loved and were loved, in a way that only angels could know. Until Judgement Day, when the hordes of men, in all their ingratitude, would descend on the holy New Jerusalem like locusts in a feeding frenzy. Then they, too, would know what it meant to be loved. Midael puzzled over this feeling, this wash of grief and disgust. He was caught between two instincts. There was a part of him--and even he could not say how large that part was--that wanted to shed the skin he wore and banish the she-demon from the Earth. There was another part that longed to unfurl his wings and close them around her, sing into her ear in God's tongue, and tell her until she believed it with all her heart, You are missed. You are loved. But neither were his mission, and all this could be contemplated in greater detail another time, like when the apocalypse had been averted and he was safely returned to the solitude of the cosmos. So Midael straightened up, cleared his throat, and said evenly, Mr. McGrew. I am Midael Smith, from the governor's office. It's so very good to meet you. May I have a moment of your time?