Sigillum ex Fatum [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 31

I can handle a lot. As I told Mikha'el, pain is one thing. But molting? Perhaps it's because it caught me off guard the first time so it left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe it's because I am a mortal angel, so the sensation is utterly foreign to my mind and body. Regardless, one thing is true, even to this day:

I. Hate. Molting.

I become an even worst insufferable bastard. I full admit that. So, by the end of the week everyone I interacted with implored me to just take it easy and go into hiding for a week.

"I love you, Sera," Kalit even told me one night during our patrol, "but please just go home and rest until you're feeling better."

It was into my second week that I started to not be able to stand myself. So, I heeded everyone's suggestion and declared I was taking leave until I was done molting (everyone rejoiced. Trust me.). However, with nothing to preoccupy myself, I ended up accidentally scratching myself quite badly. After going to the medic in shame (oh boy, the lecture I received...I was actually impressed that the head medic spoke to me in such a manner. She took her job seriously, and my reputation did not phase her. She even slapped my arm when I told her that the cut came from me using a stick to scratch between my wings by my shoulder blades.

I'm a baby when it comes to molting, okay? I hate molting.

Anyway.

I tried Mikha'el's suggestion to try to meditate. It, surprisingly, worked. Sort of. I could only do it so long before my concentration snapped and I had to preoccupy myself otherwise. I took long walks. I once made the mistake of flying to The Surface—flying actually was pretty excruciating. I was angry at the lack of information I was receiving regarding this hundred-year molt. I tried to not be too angry; all my friends and colleagues were used to it.

Key word is tried.

When I wasn't sleeping, eating, doing yoga, taking walks, or simply fighting the urge to mutilate my poor wings, I busied myself with Auriel.

"Don't you have other things to do?" he asked me in grouchiness.

"No."

Some other day, he said, "Can't you go pester someone else?"

"No."

One day, he got downright nasty.

"Would you just leave me the fuck alone already?! I don't even know why I'm friends with you!"

That stung. I slunk away, trying not to let anyone see me internally licking my wounds.

"Really Sera, you should get your wings checked out," Mikha'el told me one night. Molting or not, I still insisted on our nightly drinks.

"What, so Braleil can hit me again?"

He laughed. "She did not!"

"She did. Several times in fact."

"Well, at least your molt seems to be winding to a close finally."

He wasn't wrong. My feathers, what was left of them, had turned a weird sort of sickly gray. It looked terrible, with patched of old feathers. There were patches of bare skin, and seemingly random patches of bright white new feathers.

"Also," Mikha'el mused, looking over the brim of his cup at me, "at least there's someone in Heaven who doesn't fear your wrath."

I put down my own cup and frowned deeply. "That reminds me."

"Oh?"

"Have you seen Auriel lately?"

Mikha'el sighed and sat back in his chair again. "Oh not this again..."

"He looks awful."

"He's sick."

"And he's not getting any better! If anything, he's gotten worse!"

Mikha'el looked worried for a moment. He then swept his face into cool neutrality.

"He refuses to go to the medic, too. It's infuriating."

"Sera, I appreciate your concern, as I am sure he does—"

"He doesn't."

"—don't interrupt me. As I was saying, he's an archangel! I can't make him do anything, so I don't know what you expect me to do about it."

"Talk to him?"

Mikha'el drained his cup. "If he won't listen to you I doubt he'd listen to me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Aside Metatron, he considers you his best friend."

I stopped scratching in shock and froze.

"What—you didn't know?"

"I did not," I said with a blush.

"Look, I would love to further this conversation, however I need to meet with Gabriel."

"Oh. Alright. I just—"

"What?"

I looked off to the side, my brow furrowed. "Nothing."

His face softened and he spoke gently. "What, Sera?"

I looked directly into Mikha'el's eyes. "I'm worried about Auriel."

Mikha'el smiled and patted my shoulder. "I know. He will be fine."

Smiling, I shook his hand. He looked slightly confused. "You're right. I'm sure everything will be fine."

I wasn't so sure.

~

"Ugh, you again? Are you serious?"

I grinned. "Hello, Auriel. Nice to see you too."

He smiled, but it was forced, and his hand twitched. "Why are you here? I mean, I have much enjoyed our daily check ins but are they really necessary?"

I swiveled my head side to side, still smiling. "It's been pretty quiet here lately, hasn't it been?"

His hand twitched again. "Yes, I suppose."

"Lucky for you. I know you haven't been feeling well."

Auriel dropped his eyes and he hummed, writing.

"In fact, it's been pretty quiet since you have fallen ill."

Auriel put down his quill, folded his hands, and smiled at me. "What do you want, Sera? Truly."

I shrugged, still smiling. "Just to speak with you. I want nothing more than to speak with you."

Auriel's hand twitched. His eyes dropped down to my waist. I was dressed in my military uniform. Not totally out of character for me at that point, compared to now where I exclusively wear it. However, Auriel dragged his eyes up to my face once more.

"Why do you have your sword?"

"I have rounds."

He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"

"Duty."

"You're on leave, you said."

"Mm, did I?"

Auriel narrowed his eyes. "You did. Yesterday."

I smiled.

A slow smile spread across Auriel's face. He looked downright menacing. Shadows played on his face, making the dark circles appear even more pronounced. He, for all intents and purposes, looked downright devilish.

"How are your wings, Sera?"

I was confused. "They're—"

I never finished my sentence. The only thing I remember is a sharp pain at the base of my neck, and then nothing.