The year is 1879. When thirteen-year-old Ruth Merritt Holbrook emerges from her family's burning estate, bloody and charred, but entirely numb--She makes headlines. Reporters believe she is deranged. They accuse her of having set the fire. All the h...
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I am sitting outside on a bench next to the station entrance. Hanny is inside; she had a few telephone calls to make before our seven o'clock train arrives. I do not know where I am going, nor do I understand why we must leave—but Hanny was adamant that we must. I doubt she will ever let me sway her again. I almost got us killed at the Ballantyne only hours ago. I suppose the true hero in this mornings adventure was, to my chagrin, Rosalie Gressil. She had the shrewdness of mind to hide us in that steam trunk. It was her ingenuity that got us out of the building before anyone else could see we were there.
Even as I sit here writing, I still wonder what might have befallen her, befallen all of us, if Leviathan had not arrived when he did. I could not see what was happening, but I know in my heart that Lucius had meant to kill Rosalie. The poor girl was nearly as pale as a ghost when she freed us from our hiding place.
I worry for her. I requested she go with us, that she should run, before things became too bad. She came as far as the station with us, but in the end she took the carriage back to the Ballantyne. Before she left, I hugged her round the neck and thanked her for all she had done for me. She had not cried or even begrudged me as I had thought she might; instead, she had pulled away from me and merely said, "You may call me Rosie."
She had not waited for me to respond, she had just left me and gone straight to Hanny.
I do not know what was said between them, nor would I pen it here if I did, but I feel that Adonai would be pleased. I am not sure that Rosie believes herself to be redeemable, but I know her to be. I can see it in her eyes, I saw it on her face as she lifted the lid to the trunk, her hands shaking and her shift covered in her own vomit.
Redemption cannot be denied to her. Adonai would never allow it. Humans were not created to suffer the sins of their parents—for that cannot be helped. This girl, this nephilim, made of both demon and human, has as much choice as I do. It is my hope that she will eventually come to know that for herself.
The telephone is on the opposite side of the wall against which I sit. If there is not a group of people or a train to muffle the sound, I can hear Hanny's conversations quite clearly. Gabriel is currently scolding her, I know this even without hearing his side of the conversation because only Gabriel could force Hanny to tears. She is too strong of a person to cry for just anyone, but she sees Gabe as a brother and she had wronged him by helping me. I want to stand up and take the phone from her, speak to him myself instead of letting someone else do it.
For being a messenger archangel, he rarely relays messages directly to me. It is becoming tiresome.
She has apologized no less than half a dozen times, I know because I have counted each one with a simple tally at the top of this page. He will forgive her, for it is in an angel's nature to do such things, but just as with humans—she will need to regain his trust as easily. My chest tightens at the thought of this because I know that I should be the one apologizing. I know that, apology or not, Gabriel will not offer his trust to me again. I broke his faith before I even fully had it.
But I am—was—the angel of solitude and tears. Should he have expected any better of me? I have always ached for others, should it be a surprise that I feared for Leviathan and went to his side rather than choosing to protect myself? My actions should have been predictable.
But then, in truth, I did not fear for Leviathan—Instead, I feared I might lose him. I fear that I might truly do what I set out to do. I needed to see him, to feel the anger I'd felt in that dream, so that I could resign myself to this. I will kill him, as he deserves.
But Hanny was right—I still love him.
Nothing about my heart has changed in that regard, I am just aware of it now. I realized that as soon as I heard his voice tonight. I realized that I loved him as soon as I realized that, if Lucius desired, he could hurt him. Or perhaps not truly hurt him.
At most, I suppose, Lucius could disembody Leviathan and banish him from earth to await the final judgment in the pit. I had bargained for more than that when I asked to come to earth. I still cannot remember everything in its entirety, and perhaps I never will, but I can recall my desire to end him completely.
I loved—love—Leviathan enough to not want him to suffer Hell, which is his final destination if he remains a demon. I had asked to wash him from the face of the earth and from existence itself. I wanted to kill him and it be as if he was never here. I am too weak of a being to be able to survive the idea of him being tortured in Hell—no matter what crimes he has committed against humanity or myself.
But now that I am here—can I do it? Does he deserve that? Perhaps this is Adonai's way of teaching me a lesson. My master has given me what I asked and now I am displeased with it. How incredibly human of me... But, of course, Adonai knows all of this. The only love that isn't indecisive is His own.
I want to pray and ask Him for guidance, but I feel as if I have already asked for far too much as it stands. Who am I to be unhappy with what I have been given, especially since my desires have already been granted? I am human. I am weak. I am in love.
I have the ability to take away Leviathan's life and stop him from hurting anyone else again. I could not stop him from making this mistake the first time—but surely I can stop him from making it time and time again. I wonder if he will understand why I've come once he realizes who I am.
