Guardian of The Downworld (Let me see your eyes again)

Difficult Scheming and Little Indians Weeping (and Bleeding)

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!

This chapter contains discussion of serious political and philosophical topics, child death and endangerement, religious imagery and other serious issues.
Procceed at your own risk.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

Inspiration music: The song "Love Love Love" by Of Monsters And Men. I DO NOT OWN the following video. It belongs to the YouTube channel "Of Monsters and Men."

Construction noises rang annoyingly loud and clear at eight o' clock in the morning. So much was the noise the cats of the balcony seemed infuriated even at the man filling their bowls with food, however after petting them awhile they calmed down, rubbing their mustaches lovingly at his fingers.

Despite that annoying noise pollution, the man still enjoyed the beautiful view of New York from the high balcony; that urban jungle ranging all across the land, an intricate map of alleyways, blocks of flats and skyscrapers tearing the early morning sky, the Brooklyn Bridge standing tall, cars jammed in traffic, hordes of people swarming from the subway: a Monday morning in all its busy glory.

Yet, amidst this loud and busy city, there was a corner of silence, a place almost as if it were designed by the peaceful Angels. That corner was just big enough to fit the man trying to get away from all earthly matters, kneel with a steele in his hands and pray to his God, his prayers echoing in his mind, as the cats' meows and purrs echoed in his ears.

It must have been such an experience to witness that scene. For that man, who usually stood proud, his height taller than most, his body curved and shaped in a way it seemed unbreakable, his hands littered with such violent scars -hands which held knives and punched fists; yes, THAT man could kneel -unarmed and almost defenseless- just for his faith, just to speak his mind to those he believed in beyond measure and reason, beyond his own well-being or his own desires.

There was a certain holiness in the way his back stood hunched and his knees touched the ground, his dark hair bathed in the morning light, almost casting a halo around his head, large shadows on his back. One could characterize him as a worldly Angel, praying mutterings from his mouth, his breath warm, his eyes shut, long eyelashes casting tiny shadows on his face, his knuckles always a little bruised, a line of scarred skin tissue on his wrists that would stay there forever more.

Who wouldn't stand with their mouth agape at that scene?

Even though, the man thought he was alone there, on the door of the balcony stood another, in his silky robe and his old fashioned slippers, a mug of sweet tea in his hands, all those thoughts of glory and holiness in his mind. That man stood there quiet, simply waiting for the end of his partner's sacred habit, sipping on the tea he had brewed for him, watching his movements, and hearing his whispering.

"I, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, eldest son and sworn keeper of my family's honor and safety, hunter of the Angel and devoted parabatai to my soul-brother, pray to the Angels that created me -and to the God that created them- in true faith and ever-ending respect. May they hear my thanks and wishes." The praying man whispered and then he went silent, reserving the rest of his prayer to heard only in his head, for only his God was destined to listen to his occult wishes, thanks and regrets.

That took him a while longer than the last time he'd prayed on that balcony, probably more thoughts occupying his headspace, more people he was thankful for, yet eventually he whispered once more. "As your sworn warrior and humble child, I know that Facilis descensus Averno." He opened his eyes and raised his head, looking at the blue skies -the autumn breeze swiftly moving through his somewhat messy hair, the holy sunlight glinting on his hazel eyes- and he got up, the kittens following his movements.