Sigillum ex Fatum [UNDER EDITING]

Chapter 42

I knelt there for hours. I didn't move. I don't think I even blinked.

My sobs eventually stopped at some point. As though my brain was trying to work through a thick field of cotton, I vaguely became aware of the fact it had gone quiet. A little while later, I began noticing angels walking around me in my peripheral vision.

I was, at the time, dimly sad the fighting was done. I would have embraced being killed by Paimon. I would have gladly welcomed being ripped apart by a Nephlim. i wouldn't have even minded being captured and tortured by a Watcher, and then handed over to a Fallen. As morbid as it was, I would have gladly taken on Malael's imprisoned station.

I deserved it. I didn't save Mikha'el. And perhaps more to the point, feeling that I needed punishment for my failure, I didn't want to live in a reality where Mikha'el didn't exist.

Time ticked by but I wasn't aware of it. All I could think about was Mikha'el. The first time we met. How scared I was the first time I saw his true form. The dichotomy of our relationship, how strange it was to be petrified of who was also your best friend.

I lamented over everything he taught me. I thought about how my fear and respect slowly turned into trust and understanding. I couldn't get over how we eventually became equals, or at least in his mind, because I never truly believed I belonged on the same pedestal of greatness he belonged in.

It was when it occurred to me that we would never have our late night discussions, quarrels, and philosophical discussions at the tavern did I begin to sob again. He would never put me in my place again when he thought I was being too blasphemous. He would never seek me out for opinions when God was being ridiculous.

I had lost my confidant. I had lost the only person I felt comfortable telling my troubles to. No more did I have anyone I could show my weaknesses to. No longer would I be able to stare upon the living beauty that was Mikha'el, with his sunshine smile, his bronze skin, his straw colored curls. I wondered how many angels had ever noticed when he laughed, really laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkled delightfully.

I retched when I abruptly realized I would never feel him again. No more tingling when he touched my shoulder. No more relief would wash over me if I was injured and he came to my aid. I would never open my eyes and have his worried yet relieved visage staring down at me.

No one was there to save me anymore.

I finally threw up. It was excruciating because of my wound but I didn't care. Nothing mattered. I didn't matter.

I was surprised when I was suddenly draped in a blanket. Confused, I looked over.

A beautiful angel stood before me, and then squatted down. She had ringlets of black hair that put Shirley Temple and Judy Garland to shame. Her skin was smooth, radiant, a supple dark brown. Her eyes were two caring pools of brown love. Her lips, plump and supple.

Had I not been so numb from Mikha'el's death I would have seen this first interaction for what it was—love at first sight.

"Come, Sera. Let's get you some rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

Still shell-shocked from all that happened, I forgot myself, wondering how this two-winged angel dressed in scholar's robes that I had never seen before knew my name. I also didn't know what she meant by "I had a big day tomorrow".

She led me back to my abode, which had, thankfully, sustained little damage. On the way we had to pass Mikha'el's house, and I wept silently but bitterly. Without a word, the angel wrapped an arm around me and gave a squeeze.

Medics were waiting for me. They asked if I was injured, and if so, where. I didn't answer. I didn't even look at them. So, they poked and prodded me, healing whatever injuries they could find. Finally, they left me alone.