Fallen Star

The Human

Asher. 

My beautiful Asher. I can't tell you how exquisite that man was. ‪They don't make 'em like they used to.

(My dear, it's genetically impossible. That's all I meant. Truly. You're lovely for this millennia.)

The first time I saw Asher, he was writhing in pleasure. Red clay from the day's toil clung to his high-boned tanned cheek. His dirty fingernails dug into the back of another man. His thick dark eyelashes fluttered. His lips parted in a low moan.

Asher and the man bedding him lay on a padding of woven wool on a hard mud floor, not uncommon for Israel, 970 B.C. In fact, despite the humbleness of the abode—a single-room hut made of sunburnt bricks, with a small court attached to one side for the cattle—Asher's shelter was lush for a farmer. A neat collection of lamps cast the room in a soft amber glow. Shadows fell on an assortment of clay pots, as well as a hand mill, a stove, and a vacant hammock dangling beside the rear entrance.

Thatched thorn bushes and mortar acted as a covering, but Asher, with his eyes half-closed, surely did not see the roof any more than he could see me lingering mere breaths above him. A single latticed window above the doorway allowed a shard of white moonlight to cut across the lovers' silhouettes as they moved in sync, their bodies cresting and falling like waves of the Red Sea.

I observed them from above, unseen, invisible to human eyes. As a Watcher, the number of lust-driven encounters I had witnessed for over three millennia was astronomical, yet I was innocent to feelings of lust myself. Humans, after-all, are merely animals that walk on two legs. I was not of their kind. Not a single moist, sloppy, grunt-laden rendezvous had ever inspired more than a spiritual yawn from my disembodied form.

And yet...

It was mere chance (I no longer believe in fate) that brought me to that specific hut on that specific evening, but as the larger man thrust into Asher and he cried out, I felt myself change.

Angels are not free thinkers. They're servants who have no room in their psyche for deviation from the natural order, and anyone who does deviate...well. Hell didn't fill up with so many demons on its own.

But still, an unbidden thought ran through my incorporeal mind:

I love him.

That was it. A single original thought, and my entire world exploded. The effect was so strong that even after three millennia, I have never forgotten the overwhelming power of the emotions that coursed through my being. My spirit burst with exaltation. It was a sensation akin to a religious fervor. I had never felt religious fervor, since angels were not created to worship and only indentured to serve. And yet there I was. Worshipping. Revering a lustful sinner.

Asher cried out again, and I heaved a divine sigh. A soft gasp filled the dwelling and cooled the sweat on his skin. Only then did Asher—my unknowing love, my sudden favorite—drift a distracted eye around the shadowed room. 

As his gaze swam to the ceiling, I felt his eyes land on my invisible form. He stared right at me, as though he could see me. 

His eyes were an impossible depth, boasting volumes of warmth. Something dark and pregnant with promise. 

They beckoned to me.

I had never been seized by such a powerful desire for a solid form.