Samael

He denies me, my sweet Hamaliel, and for the briefest of moments I'm so utterly crestfallen and heartbroken. My mouth parts as though I'm in the midst of speaking to him, but not a sound or syllable come out, and the icy orbs of my oculars, so sad, so despondent, focus only on him. Pleading for him to change his mind, begging, yearning... Please don't leave me, don't let me lose you, not again, please... But just as quickly as the episode of agonizing depression grips me, it releases come Hamaliel's next words, and I'm blissfully reminded to breathe.

'In time, yes I will follow you,' he says, and my eyes drift and linger upon the way that his lips form his words. Those familiar lips, pale and beautiful and worldly, just like he is. My ears tilt back as I listen to his plight, his shame and foolish belief that he is unworthy. Unworthy? I scoff, my eyes finding his beautiful, two-toned gaze.

"You don't understand, Dear Heart," I breath, my muzzle turning towards him, yearning for his touch, his caress, his scent to bathe me and swallow me whole, "It is always I who am unworthy... But... If this is what you wish, then I will respect your decision. Just... Just tell me how I can find you, until that time. Tell me the location of the Edge, so that perhaps I can come and visit you." Because really, I had not the faintest clue how long it was going to take for Hamaliel to regain his wings. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? "I don't know how much longer I can wait being apart from you."

Then, Hamaliel speaks of his quest, his given task from a God here, and I resist the urge to snort in disdain. One God had scarred the beautiful form of my lover, and he was putting his faith in another to regain those wings? But, he had said that these Gods were nothing like the Father... But I wasn't sure. I don't think I ever would be sure.

'Would you be the first to give me a feather?'

"... I would give you the wings from my very shoulders if it were in my power, my sweet," I purr to him, my heart swelling with adoration and devotion to the one true holder of my soul, "But... If a feather will suffice, then yes. I shall." The said, silky black appendages stretch outwards as though on their own accord, and I offer my left wing out for him to pluck as many feathers as he needs. He said one, a feather, so singular, but I would allow him to take as many as he needed.

It is only after Hamaliel takes what he needs that my eyes seek out the crimson-splattered form of young Sacre, and I am reluctant to follow, but I remind myself that this isolation from my lover is not permanent. I can find him again, I will find him again... Even if it is the last thing that I do. "Very well, young Sacre," I say to him, nodding my head in his direction and motioning for him to go on ahead. "I shall follow you to the Throat of the Dragons. Lead on, young stud."

Whether or not this place would be my new home, I've not a clue... But we would see. The mortal saying was 'home was where the heart was', wasn't it? My heart was with Hamaliel... So perhaps the Throat would be a temporary resting place for my weary wings, should I not find it satisfactory.

the Fallen