Dove Caught in a Burning Bush Ch. 09

There were no crickets, no birdsong.

Tall grass rose high to sway against bare hips as she stood, a lonesome, naked spark in a field that stretched endlessly in all directions. Each waving stalk was colored a deep teal that verged upon black, the white tips whipping low in waves like a sea of shivering stars adrift in the gloom created between dark vegetation and slate blue sky above.

Crucifel did not know this field, nor the type of grass that sprang up around her, though something about it felt familiar in a way that was not at all comforting. This felt like she was standing barefoot on ground that was once holy, but now was utterly, completely salted of anything divine or otherwise.

It was a feeling she had encountered before, not quite the same, but the similarities were enough that the angel felt a need to drape her wings around herself like a cloak in order to hide her uncovered form.

A single step carried Crucifel forward as waxy, cool grass bowed beneath her feet.

She had no choice but to wander through what could only be described as an unending vastness of dark grassland with a sky that appeared to be on the cusp of wicked downpour. If it did rain now, in this hollow place, there would be no shelter for her save for her own wings. There wasn't even a moon above to light the way, and the stars in their mismatched patterns were all unfamiliar.

It felt unceasingly lonely, but full in the most empty way that she had ever felt.

With each step and brush of wings to part a path through the field, that empty feeling grew until it took up more of Crucifel than her actual form did. Its melancholy gathered at her ankles as phantasmagorical, unseen hands, clinging to be dragged along through the dark as they worked their way up her legs.

The wind swelled higher with a faint whisper of shifting grass and something else, a low humming like a distant hymn. It lent to the eerie feeling of razor thin fingers brushing her thighs while blades that had once bowed to be crushed seemed to stir in recognition of the breeze, snapping back into place and kowtowing again like they were in the throes of zealous prayer.

Under the dull glow of her yellow gaze, shapes sprouted up from the grassy sea; faces, arms, and legs that pushed soundlessly through the earth to writhe and reach toward the muted blue above.

Hands clasped in braided chains of flesh and bone, legs locked at the knee and jaws yawned wider than they had any God-given right to as the disembodied limbs melted together and rose higher, forming a nightmarish, fleshly simulacrum of a forest. The bark of its trees was mostly cast from feathers, fingernails and teeth, all distorted and broken as they twisted into their new form while branches of disjointed arms clutched at distant stars.

She had to go deeper.

She desperately did not want to, but Crucifel's legs carried her almost as a prisoner beneath the forsaken branches, watching as gilded sap ran from corners of gaping mouths and between feathers to slide down each breathing surface. With each step, the trees grew taller and denser, sprouting more arms that fanned out to gradually edge out the already dim light until all that remained was complete darkness.

The wayward prophetess could hear countless heartbeats in the dark that thudded in time with the hymn that had grown louder, feeling their pulsation in the slick roots that were slipping out of her way to form a path to...somewhere. In the midst of this haunting ruin of flesh that echoed with thick, pulsing drums, Crucifel felt something between peace and void.

She stopped when she felt it, a presence in the dark. Sight wasn't needed to know that something stood before her, perhaps even just inches from her face.

"Hello?" Crucifel breathed, not daring to speak above a whisper.

"Hello? He-- Hear us? Help us? Hurt us? Let me!"

Countless voices sounded as if they were clustering together, blending and overlapping in different inflections and pitches before falling apart to try again like a murmuration of starlings. There was silence for a few uncomfortable seconds, then a shifting, unsteady, but nonetheless slightly more unified voice spoke.

"Prophetess," the unseen whispered in a voice that was a dry autumn leaf's rasp. "Catalyst, shepherdess. Do you hear us? Hear us?"

Crucifel's chin dipped in a shaky nod before she remembered how dark it was beneath the branches, but the unseen seemed to perceive the movement anyways.

"Be not afraid. Closer, nearer."

The prophetess obeyed, taking cautious steps forward until her outstretched hand brushed the warm skin of a tree. Her own flesh crawled when she felt the outline of a cheek, shifting beneath her touch as the face pushing through the organistic bark spoke, clearer than ever in a voice that was somehow familiar.

"We are...breaking, splintering. We are falling apart, you can feel it, yes? Your soul was shaped to feel us, know us," the face whispered under her touch, sounding gradually lighter, sweeter. "Listen! You need to listen, because you will forget. Please, Prophetess of mine. Mine."

"I am listening," Crucifel replied quietly, feeling her wings tense and feathers bristle as a pair of yellow eyes so like her own opened in front of her, glowing like two distant suns in the dark. "I think I know you."

The light emanating from the eyes was bright enough to reveal the curves and slopes of her, until now, unseen conversation partner. It showed Crucifel enough of the being's partially obscured face that her mind was able to make those final few connections needed to put a name to a countenance she'd only ever seen in paintings. Some details were shifted or otherwise missing, but it was hard to mistake who this was supposed to be.

"Sacralyre?" It couldn't be.

"Listen!" Her grandmother gasped, face shifting slightly askew before pulling itself back into place. "What we have to tell you, you shall forget, but not for long. Not long. We need your silence, this shape is...hard, half recalled."

Sacralyre's face was framed in hands that were not her own. One pair rested over her cheeks with tapping fingers as if clapped over them in surprise, the second held on at either temple with elongated, thin fingers that were a disquieting mimicry of hair. And finally, like a macabre crown, the third complete set sprouted up from the ones at her brow, pressed in prayerful silence as the remaining multitude of fingers and partially formed hands fanned out around the angel's head like overlapping wings.

It would have been pointless to try and fight the cold serpent's belly of dread sliding along Crucifel's spine. This was, in maybe the most existentially upsetting way possible, terrifying. But it was so much more than just the face of impending mortality wasn't it?

Her role as Prophetess in Edenara had always been a certainty. When she and Promethiel had been formed into new souls from their parents' given stardust, from the very beginning, Crucifel had been bound for this fate by design. Down to how her soul resonated with the Seal, and ideally, their Creator. Not that it had helped her make contact, Heaven knows she tried every day.

Now, there was the question of if this was a message directly from the Seal, or if God had finally reached out to her. Both would be entirely unprecedented. So many questions bubbled up in her throat, but the plea for silence was heeded to give Sacralyre her full attention.

As her predecessor spoke, distorted as it was at times, Crucifel felt as that unease grew deep enough to bury gnarled roots of fear in the pit of her belly.

It wasn't a long message, nor was it particularly eloquent, but it was enough to make her feel faint. Whether it was from the countless heartbeats pulsing from the trees around her, or her own that raged like a blood fueled hammer in her ears, it failed to matter. Crucifel's hearing quickly became filled with the sound of a thousand red drums that shook her down to her clenched teeth.

"Remember this. But for now, forget."

Sacralyre's final message broke away into a keening buzz, and above, the endless canopy of reaching hands fell away to reveal the light of the sun.

Thousands of heartbeats and joined voices shook the angel's mind as the light consumed and dissolved her entirely.

And she forgot.

...

A sigh escaped Crucifel as she faded back into consciousness, the slightest hint of a shudder still on her breath when her eyes opened from the fast fading dream to the dark of Promethiel's chambers.

She knew for sure where she'd slept this time. Even if it was in an unconventional position to allow his wounds the room they needed to breathe.

Her back was resting against a mound of pillows pressed against the solid wooden headboard of Promethiel's bed, wings settled at her sides to cover her shoulders and his like a blanket while the archangel lay on his stomach before her. His head rested on her bosom, arms around her waist.

For the fourth night in a row now in an immoral, terrifying, yet comforting turn of events, Crucifel gone to bed in her brother's room and slept pressed close to Promethiel, their wings overlapping each other as they were enveloped in the warmth of their shared body heat. The closeness was so familiar, but so different than it had ever been before this new metamorphosis.

And yet, it wasn't any less comforting to have Promethiel's body pressed to hers. Just that it was more complicated. This wasn't the same as falling asleep in the rich afternoon shade beneath fruit trees in the palace's orchard, her cheek resting on his shoulder while he peeled an apple for them to share with an extended claw. It was conflicted, tender, tortured and loving. It was tangled limbs, bare skin, his arms wrapped around her as he breathed softly against the peak of her right breast while his ivory hair spilled over her chest in rivers of silk.

Crucifel watched his sleeping face in the cold light of the moon, feeling a soft ache swell in her heart. What a strange being, Promethiel.

Killer, archangel, brother. But so much more than that too, more than Crucifel had ever allowed herself to feel for another being. Most definitely more than she had any right to feel about him.

Ah, but that was the crux of it, was it not? There had always been something closer about them, beyond mere kinship.

Her eyes went over his head to the lashed skin of his back, once more feeling that burn of...anger. Yes, it was anger. Not just irritation with the Council for allowing such an extreme self punishment, anger. Anger at herself, for not having been there to stop it. Anger that she'd been the cause of it. There had been enough pain lately all the way down the chain of command in Edenara, nothing was right about this.

Curving her wings protectively over his form, Crucifel brushed the sleeping archangel's hair back from his forehead with the lightest touch she could manage. Even the eyes inked onto his shoulders and arms were closed peacefully, appearing to be no more than dark streaks on his skin. The sight of them so calm was a balm after seeing them wide and frantic the previous night, just before he'd shown her the cracked flesh of his back. Even just the memory of it broke her heart all over again.

The arms wrapped loosely around her waist squeezed tighter with a shaky exhale across her breast as Promethiel shifted in his sleep. That single night of rest had helped the worst of his lashes, but as much as she wanted to let him continue to relax and heal, they couldn't keep putting off this conversation while they had the chance. So Crucifel cupped his cheek and tapped the smooth surface with her thumb.

"Promethiel?" She whispered.

He groaned softly, but leaned his face against her palm as a single eye cracked open ever so slightly. "Mm? Something wrong?"

"No, but I need you to rise early today," Crucifel murmured, leaning into the pillows at her back to give him room to slide further up her body so that they were face to face. "The conversation that you've promised me twice now?"

A moment of silence passed between them in the moonlit dark, and then Promethiel nodded, sliding his fingers up her arm to her wrist until he was able to pull her hand away from his face. He kissed her knuckles before releasing her, moving his lips to her shoulder instead to let them brush her skin as he spoke. "Yes, I recall. Just give me a moment to wake properly, this isn't a conversation to be had half-asleep."

She nodded, starting to idly comb through his hair with her fingers when he suddenly leaned forward to place a kiss to her lips. Her shoulders tensed, but only briefly before she relaxed into the heat of his mouth.

"Now, was that a peace offering or pre-emptive apology?" Crucifel asked when they drew back, fingers tugging softly at the long bangs alongside his face.

"A bit of both, I suppose," Promethiel hummed with a smile, sitting back so that he was almost straddling her. "And a little something to wake me up."

Sitting up straighter as well, Crucifel swept away the last cobwebs of sleep that tried to cling to her mind. She wasn't sure what she was going to hear, but an effort was made to steel herself in preparation for whatever Promethiel had to share.

"I think I should be starting at the beginning, yes?" Promethiel began, rolling his shoulders and fighting back a wince. The expression on his face was solemn, even if he tried to soften it with a smile. "But I would need to go too far back for that, so I hope it makes sense when I say this..."

Hia hand sought hers, lacing their fingers together and pressing their joined hands to his chest over his heart.

"Crucifel. I promise you with every atom of stardust that made me, when I tell you that I love you, I mean that with the utmost of sincerity. That love has been in my heart for an incredibly long time, even if I have been playing a cruel game of cat and mouse with you lately," Promethiel began, squeezing her hand tighter before forcing his grip to relax. "I can never apologize enough for those furrows my wickedness has left in your heart and mind, not in any way that won't take at least another thousand years."

She felt him shudder beneath her fingers, and her own shoulders prickled with gooseflesh as she looked back at him, meeting gold eyes that were washed out by the silver glow spilling through his windows. It was always by the light of the moon that she was allowed to see him like this anymore. Ever since his coronation, and only recently at that. Vulnerable and sincere, raw without his airs and the divine mantle of king. Just an angel, just her brother.

God, how she wanted them to have the free time that they used to, to be able to look at each other in the sunshine without it being tied to one official event or another. She wanted to see Promethiel in the light of day without it being over her shoulder. Just a bit more while she could.

"I cannot change the things I've done," he continued, "but I want..."

What did they want matter? One born to be a deathless leader, one born to become a martyr. Their wants were never a part of the equation of his existence, least of all her life.

"Crucifel, Heart, I want that thousand years of apologies to you, and another, and another!" Promethiel was practically panting as he leaned closer once more, eyes widening, "I am completely, nakedly, mortally, terrified of losing you. I don't think I'd survive it. You are far too precious to just throw away for a paltry several millennia of peace."

Oh.

Oh, she was breaking for real now, wasn't she?

Shattering into cutting edges all over again. It was like each word was ripping into her just that little more, pulling her skin back to messily dig out the little, private secrets, wishes and insecurities that she'd buried away in her bones. Promethiel was snapping them, gathering the marrow of her private heartaches in his mouth and pressing their lips sweetly, but she could still taste the bitterness sharp as ever.

"You know that isn't how our story ends," Crucifel managed to breathe, letting her eyes drift shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She didn't know what she could possibly say in response, just that she needed him to stop talking like that. Her heart was breaking, all of those unspoken, selfish wishes were spilled over the bedsheets like fragments of bone.

"It can be, it will be if you let me help you," Promethiel insisted, placing another kiss on her brow. "I cannot lose you, I know it is wrong to speak ill of the dead, but our parents..." A shudder ran through him, heated but dampened by the hushed agony in his voice. "You deserve so much more than they ever gave you. Father was a sanctimonious, preachy louse and mother was so terrified of becoming attached to you that when she did anyways, because you're you, it made her sick and distant."

"Stop it," Crucifel snapped, pulling her hand away from his chest. She couldn't talk about this now, maybe not ever. It was an entirely separate conversation. "Stop. What does this have to do with Zirthil and the Council? Did you tell them all of this?"

Promethiel gave a sharp scoff, shaking his head. "No, I'm perhaps a 'vulgar wretch', but I'm not that far gone. I tried to explain how we might find a different way to protect Edenara without the use of a seal. But they wouldn't have it, they're too attached to their old ways."

He leaned away further, silken hair spilling over his shoulders, and drew a deep breath. "Zirthil spoke without recognizing the cruelty in his words, he tried to tell me how I should feel so proud of you for your role in all of this. It made me...so unbelievably furious, to think that I would be glad at the idea of losing you, I snapped at him."

"Did you harm him?" Crucifel quickly cut in, leaning forward as her feathers bristled.

"No, no, I didn't lay a finger on him. The worst of it will be the, ah," he glanced over his shoulder, avoiding her eyes. "The scorch marks I left through the hallways, I'm sure those will be sorted out soon."

Crucifel exhaled a sigh of relief, letting her wings settle down. It was clear that there was quite a bit more he wasn't saying, but even this admission was so much more than she could have hoped. Maybe she didn't like all that she was hearing, but that only added weight on the side of his words being spoken in truth.

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts before she spoke up quietly.

"You cannot keep damaging the palace like this, you absolute rampaging bull of a bastard."

Another few beats of silence passed before they both sputtered into unsteady, near manic laughter. She felt Promethiel shift closer again, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her against his chest. His face burrowed into the curve of her neck, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders as the first shreds of dawn light began to strike him in the back.

"Crucifel?" His voice was muffled against her skin, but she heard it clearly enough. "I'd like to make one more request of you."

"After hearing everything you've said just now, that feels like a very dangerous string of words," she whispered in reply. "But I think I need to hear them anyway."

"Do not make me witness you being erased," Promethiel murmured, "give me time, I beg of you, give me time to figure this out. I can find something for you, for Edenara. And if I can't..."

Moisture pressed onto her neck, tears from her murderous wretch of a brother. She stroked his hair, soothing him as best she could while trying to keep her own emotions in check.

"If you insist on this prescribed suicide by beings who have only ever sought to use you as a tool, then kill me before you do it. I won't fight, I won't struggle. It can be somewhere peaceful and quiet, just between us. But I will not watch you die."