Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Heaven, it feels not

      
       What was this?

Fragrances of flowers footed near his nose, eyes stitched calmly but ready to open. These clothes he wore, felt warm, rippling over his body as though silk. His feet were on some sort of cotton, like he was floating. But his back was weighing him down.

Grey eyes ripped at the threads. Heaven. Golden gates shut slowly beyond him, whilst he mused the peach and blues of the clouded sky. Angels were pacing, as if in disarray—it was comforting. He wasn't the only one. Trees of jewelled flowers stretched from splendid aureate arches to embellished walls, leading to a shorter arch giving out water. The throne of God. No one could deny his existence, but Mammon denied his presence. Like the arch had spurted out memories, he realised what had ensued. Luka was gone, with him.

If the Lord had loved him, why was he left with this pain?

He glimpsed at his arms, no ink, instead gold string to sophisticate them. Even the ones he had gotten for Luka on his wrists, were gone.

Happiness fluttered as butterflies in his stomach, but it didn't feel right—a home for flies overtaken with God-given jars. Why was he here? His sole wish was to be with his partner, even if that meant returning to Hell.

"I'm sorry for being late!" A boy with black hair and freakish ears was scuttling to him, sheets in his hands. "Mammon...Sicras?"

The raven-haired narrowed his eyes at him. He looked familiar. "That's...me."

"Congratulations on your conversion! I'm...sure it wasn't easy to make this decision." His words imparted confidence, yet his fidgeting stance did the opposite. He passed over a lined page, as if from a small notebook, with directions scribbled on it, and a minute organza bag. "I was told to give this to you! It must be something of importance."

"Who...are you?"

The elfin ears of his went red. "Oh, I'm sorry! Think of me...as your guide! My name is Mikkel, I'll get you through your settling period."

His mouth went ajar. "You're...Mikkel?"

The boy pushed up his thick glasses as he looked up. "Yes...is something wrong?"

"I...knew your brother," he croaked out, fists making a ball.

His long ears twitched and he gasped. "Luka? How is he! It's been almost a year, and he isn't...back yet. Where did you meet him?"

"On...Earth." Mammon gulped the pain bundling in his throat.

"On E-Earth?" Mikkel cocked his to the side, apprehension causing his ears to droop. "He must be there for defence. I heard angels were sent down...I pray everything is alright!"

Crying was an outlet for the weak, the raven-haired drilled that thought to his core as a demon. All he wanted at this present moment, was to cry. Did that forge him weak?

"He's...gon-"

The leather book to his chest leaped out on his palms, pages flicking open as it shook.

"I'm so sorry! It looks like the others need me. It's not...usually like this. I hope you can get on without me?"

The raven-haired nodded, gratefully regarding as he scampered back. He would hate to be the one to tell him that his brother was dead—he couldn't even voice it to himself yet.

His eyes descried the blue writing before his expanding wings laid the first stone. Mammon grunted, arms wobbling as he tried to control his airborne body. By and by he managed, scrunching the page into the lime bag. Images flashed in his head. Luka; he had flown and fluttered, just like he was now. The raven-haired had seen it all, manacled with simulating eyes in front. Mammon gritted his teeth, sounding air hustling black strands. He had tried—the Lord on his golden throne, salient everywhere, knew that. He had tried so desperately to save him, to weaken the beast that had noosed him. Why had it worked for Adona, and not him?