The Alpha's Angel

Chapter 22

She flew as high and far that her tired wings could take her. Until she lacked the endurance and strength to go any further.

The unbearable pain in her chest made her weak that she faltered some; forcing her descent into a rough landing. The sparkling lights of the city below kept her in the sky long enough until she found a darkened wooded area to land.

She trembled in tears as she stood retracting her wings. She could not stay here she thought. Her mind just lingered and swirled in lost hope as she trudged slowly through the wooded area onto an illuminated path.

What was to become of her? She sobbed with the whirling question in her mind.

She continued to walk until she noticed more and more people surrounded her. Humans smiling at each other as they held hands and walked passed her.

She looked around and noticed an empty bench in the far distance. With an exhausting sigh, she plopped down on it and hugged her self as she again began to weep inconsolably.

Sometime had passed before she had quieted down to sniffles.
"It will get better," a soft wobbly voice came from beside her.

Abruptly she turned her head. "Excuse me?" she sniffles sadly staring at a male elderly human that now sat on the bench beside her.

"It will get better." he says again softly. "With time and prayer, it will get better," he nods with a smiling sigh.

"Prayer?" she croaked sitting up now, intrigued with this humans knowledge of her kinds invocation to their creator.

"You know of prayer?" she whispered dashing away a tear.

"Of course." he chuckled. "It helps calm the soul and praying to the good Lord is a way to ask for his help in a time of need," he added.

"You know of him. Y-you ask of him?" she searched his soft gaze feeling overwhelmed with his words. How can he know these things?

"Sure thing, every Sunday at Our Lady of Assisi down the block. Plus, they make a mean Minestrone soup after Sunday Mass," he whispered with a wink.

"Where is this Lady of Assisi so that I too can talk to the creator?" again the overwhelming tears began to flow. This did not make sense. He was of divine power. How did he speak to the mortals if knowledge of their existence was forbidden?

He pointed in the direction and she took off. She needed to speak to him. She has never gotten the chance to have an audience with him but maybe if she pleaded with him, he would order Metatron to lift her punishment.

The ache in her chest steadily climbed with the thought of leaving this plain. Leaving him. But she could not stay.

She ran as fast as she could and abruptly stopped at the door to the large chapel. On shaky legs, she climbed the steps until her fingers lifted to the brass handle. Her heart pummeled in her chest with the unknown and the questions to her answers whirling in her head.

She finally entered the beautifully lit entrance and walked in. She gasped as her gaze lifted to the large decorated Dais in front of her. She looked around in awe.

Dumbstruck, she stumbled forward glancing over lit candles and towards the walls. All aligned with statues.

She walked slowly towards the first. And she stared up into the large porcelain replica of an Angel baring his wings holding a sword.
Her legs shook as her gaze lowered to the gold plack and read.
Archangel Michael

She gasped stepping back. Again she looked at it.
"That is not him." she whispered.

She frowned suddenly. "But how do they know of him?" she shook her head.