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Words of Angels
Warnings : Hints of boys loving boys, anti-religion, made up religion
Author's Note : I'm thinking of continuing it on and making it a multichapter thing. Can you tell me what you think? Begin Prologue The world is divided, a landscape of both beauty and beast. As Angels, we must only walk the steps of those born of sacred hearts. We must stray from the style of the wicked. Reapers are the fading and the forgotten, damned to walk the earth and feared upon by the eyes of the living, damned to harvest life, hearts--all without remorse, and damned to remain as empty souls void of love and compassion with no other possession than a wicked skull. We are not Reapers. We are Angels. We are the saints to lead the future to the Doors to Light, and so must seek guidance from our beloved, wise priests, and the scripts of the Words of Angels. Priests are blessed with a forgiving nature, with strength to resist the darkest seduction, and with wisdom to nurture the gift named Purity. Priests are courageous, with the bestowed task of lighting the path to divinity with the Cross chained to the heart. Never will the two worlds twine as one. Never will the 'hearts' of Reapers be granted the gift of love. Love will never come to those who have sinned. Thus saith the Angels. - End Prologue - - Begin Part One - The Angel's Fallacy - Night. Of the darkest night. Shadows creep in the darkness, lights a tiny flicker; barely scaring it away. A church, of the gothic era, stood in the dark. Of oversized proportions stained glass windows barely glinting in the shadows, a large towered church bell in the center. Inside, the pews were of solid oak, the floors marble and alabaster. Small pillars lined the edges, casting shadows on the detailed oil painted walls. Seraphim, cherubs, and innocent children watched the priests and faithful followers of the church. Lucian, the High Seraph of Angels, was painted in the center of the dome; crystal blue eyes staring toward the heavens. Farther in the church were cemented walls, bland, dull, lifeless. Doors were nonexistent in the back, priests have no privacy. There were twelve rooms, eleven priests. The empty room connected directly to the main hall; candelabras and candles lined the thin wood shelves. Each candle symbolized someone dear to the church; each flickering flame recognized keeping the passed in everyone’s thoughts. The church worshipped the seven princesses, symbolizing the seven virtues: Love, Temperance, Faith, Justice, Courage, Prudence and Hope. The stained glass windows depicted the princesses, beautifully realistic. According to the Words of Angels, the seven princesses were protected by the angels, seraphim, holy knights. These holy knights were what mortals strived to be: to accept themselves for whom they are and when they pass, maybe they could be an angel too. But if one turned away from themselves, denied what they were, that person became a Reaper; a being without emotion harvesting the hearts of those who are just like themselves. Reapers are described as young boys, generally dressed in overly large black cloaks carrying top heavy scythes. Each mortal was controlled by their heart, like a puppet. The heart strings dictated a person’s actions and reactions. The Reaper’s scythe acted as a pair of scissors, cutting the heart strings and stealing the very object that kept the puppet alive. One Reaper wandered the Church That Never Was; this Reaper was one of the oldest and wisest of them all. The mortals referred to him as Lucius, the Alter of Lucian. Lucius was cold, lifeless, ruled only by reason and the whim of stealing hearts. In pictures painted along the walls, Lucius was pictured with unruly light brown hair, almost blond and a small stick like frame carrying a scythe two times his size. The Words of Angels claimed that once your heart had been chosen by a Reaper, the Reaper became visible to you. This belief was proven when Harold the Wise barely escaped Lucius’s scythe twenty years ago and survived to paint a portrait of the Reaper. The man proceeded to remove himself from the church, leaving the twelfth room empty and free for the Reaper’s use. And Lucius used it. There were times when the priests would wander toward that last room and see a flutter of the curtains in the closed window, or the bed sheets would be ruffled and wrinkled. One who frequented the Twelfth room was David, an eighteen year old priest with large ambitions that usually led him into sin. David wore the obligatory robes, a large contrast to his fire red hair. His form was long and thin, a runner’s frame. The young priest would sit in the room with the Words of Angels at hand and read scripts aloud. It was the middle of the week where David found himself sitting on the bed once again reading from the Words. Whispering Scripts to himself, a black shape appeared in the window. Pumpkin orange eyes flickered up toward the window, not seeing anything there but the beginning hues of sunset. Shrugging it off, David leaned back onto the bed, springs squeaking, random strands brushing against the plain white walls. “I would appreciate it if you move.” The voice was young, sounding like the voice of a fifteen or sixteen year old boy. David shot up in the bed, the springs squeaking, and slammed the Words shut. His eyes scanned the area, not seeing anything but the plain walls of the church and the now opened window. David pocketed the Words in his robes, standing to his full height. “Who is there?” The bed squeaked, and David turned to glance at the bed. He could feel his eyes widen as he noticed a divot in the mattress. There was something there. Something his mortal eyes could not see. “Are you a Reaper?” “Maybe,” the voice gave a chuckle; the sound had no feeling, almost forced. “But don’t worry; I’m not interested in your heart.” The divot spread, the Reaper probably lay down. “You’re not far enough gone.” “Gone?” David moved to sit on the bed, next to the shape; his mind was screaming at him, get away, get away! It’s a Reaper. Reapers kill people like you. Standing at the edge, David could almost see the figure of the resting Reaper. “Consumed by darkness or dying.” The voice was very nonchalant, “But don’t worry Priest, I don’t have to retrieve yours for a while.” David knelt by the bed, watching the bed shift as the Reaper probably turned his head toward the priest. “Are you…?” “Your wise man named me Lucius.” “Lucius,” David murmured, closing his eyes. “Do you look like that –” “Painting in the hall?” Another forced laugh, Lucius scoffed. “Harold over exaggerated my blade. It’s miniscule compared to it.” The Reaper sat up in bed, the sound of springs and metal scratching against concrete greeted David’s ears. A faint pitter patter made its way to the window once again, the curtains moving out of the Reaper’s way. David watched as Lucius slipped out the window and the invisible force closed the glass. .:.:. The next day David awoke to the sound of sobs echoing in the hall. Quickly the teen dressed and rushed to the pews. Rows and rows of church supporters sat, all praying to Lucian. Some bawled, others supporting one another as they wept, but most howled toward the heavens. Spotting a fellow priest, David fell in line. “What happened?” The older man glanced David’s way before leading the teen to the head priest, Icarus. “Darren the Rash passed away yesterday, just after sunset.” David slowed in his hurried pace, ignoring the older priest shooting glares his way. Lucius fled the Twelfth room during twilight, and Darren the Rash died sometime afterward. Lucius was the only known Reaper in the town. Lucius killed Darren the Rash. There was no doubt. David stopped completely in his tracks. The Reaper spoke to him nonchalantly and less than twelve hours after killed the second highest ranked priest in the church. Either Lucius was desensitized to the death and act of killing, or the Words of Angels was honest. Reapers do not feel. David pivoted in his shoes, his lithe form sneaking easily outside the large church doors. Down a dirt pathway and passed a couple log cabins, David found himself facing Harold the Wise’s abode. He didn’t knock nor greet the man sitting in a wood chair. “Why would Lucius kill Darren?” Harold the Wise was almost a century old, but his loyalty to the Princesses kept him young and meek. He had the mentality of the wisest man in the world, but the body of forty-year-old. Glassy eyes met the determined gaze of a young priest, and a sigh fell from chapped lips. “David, why are you not mourning the loss of your fellow priest?” David plopped himself down on the floor, crossed his legs, and propped his head. “How about this question: do Reapers feel?” “You know as well as I do that the Words say – ” “I do not care what the words say.” David’s voice was sharp. “Do Reapers feel?” Harold and David’s gazes met, the older man turning his eyes away. Harold knew to pick his battles with David, all the citizens did. “In general I belief Reapers do not feel.” Harold reached for his copy of the Words, opening to a specific page. “However I have reason to believe Lucius does.” Clearing his throat, Harold mumbled out, “Confession 21:6. I am Alpha, he is Omega. I am the beginning, he is the end. I will freely give emotion from the spring of the water of life to the one who is thirsty or suffers in drought.” Harold closed the Words, meeting David’s gaze once again. “Through the Angel of Twilight, Lucian gave those Words to the first priests when introducing his Alter. The Words say Lucius suffers from a drought of emotion, and all who know and speak of Lucian say the Holy Knight is not cruel in his judgment. Lucius feels, there is no mistake of that.” .:.:. It wasn’t until Saturday that the priests saw any form of proof Lucius visited once more. David hovered around the Twelfth room, trying to spot any confirmation Lucius was inside before he barged in. David needed to talk to him. Needed. The priest grit his teeth and stepped inside. “Lucius?” The screech of the window lock being undone met his ears. Curtains flowed out of the way, a small tear appearing in the fabric. “Why are you here David?” “Curious are you?” A hum greeted his ears. “I have a serious question for you Lucius.” “Are you ever serious?” The voice was chiding, mimicking the sound all too well. “I don’t have to answer it do I?” the Reaper questioned from his spot on the windowsill. David could almost see him if he squinted enough. The faint amount of shade caused by his immortal, invisible form stretched across the ripped curtain sloth. “I would prefer it if you did.” The bed squeaked and a clatter of something falling to the floor hinted at his position. “Do you really feel?” He paused before David caught his courage and continued. “Can you feel? Did Lucian take your heart from you?” Silence met David’s ears. Not even the thoughtful hum was there. If David closed his eyes, he would think he was a soundless room, a vacuum of some sorts. Did Lucius even hear the question? His eyes floated back to the window, seeing the sun’s light blanketing the dirty hole of a town. It probably hadn’t changed much since the town was first founded, or when Lucius was first assigned here. The Reaper was probably bored with his not-life, stuck in the tiny lifeless town without anyone to speak with or things to do. David wanted to be the one Lucius spoke with. He wanted Lucius to be able to confide in him. It was an irrational thought, an irrational thought that would lead him to his death. This was the temptation, this was the lure. Did Lucius entrap all his victims with this same curiosity? Or was it just David? David did not know how long he stood there. It could have been minutes, it could have been an hour, but the time seemed to flow all too fast and all too slow at once. Once the oranges and yellows began to decorate the sky, David sighed and left the room, eyes closed in despair. The teenager retired to his room early, collapsing on the dirty gray cloth of a bed and let himself turn into a pile of teenage angsty mush. As the last vestiges of coherent thought slipped away, David heard the sound of springs squeaking and metal scratching against the floor before his world went black. .:.:. After dinner Sunday night, David ignored his habit of reading in the Twelfth room and lay on his bed. In his hands he played with matches and thin parchment paper. Fire was sin. Passion was sin. Anything worth living for was sin. David loved to sin. Not for the fact he was sinning, but the act of it. There was a kind of adrenaline in sinning that David craved for at times. But the consequences were something David couldn’t imagine. Living without feeling, without emotion. It was incomprehensible. David lived off emotions, that was all he had left. Emotions, fire, and the Words of Angels. David sat up in bed, glancing at the hallway. There was no point in visiting the room, if Lucius was there, the Reaper wouldn’t answer his questions. A god doesn’t answer to a mortal. With a huff, David buried his face into the bed, mentally screaming in emotional overload. If he never met Lucius, none of this confusion would have occurred. David would never begun doubting the Words of Angels, never begin doubting the passages of the Princesses, or the stories the Holy Knights told. A scratch sounded on the floor, slightly different than the ones David was used too. David peeked open an eye before flinging himself off the bed. Standing before him was a boy about his age with unruly brown hair, bright glowing eyes and dark robes. In his arms laid an overly large scythe. David couldn’t help but laugh nervously. “You said Harold exaggerated.” An upturn of the lip suggested a smile, but the rest of Lucius’s face was neutral. “I lied.” “Ah.” David’s gaze watched the scythe, the hook gleaming in the fading sun. The Reaper stepped closer to David, the end of the scythe scrapping against the floor, causing a horrible screeching noise. “I have something to confess.” Lucius’s smile seemed to widen, the look not matching his eyes. “You should have a suggestion for me. Priests are the ones with knowledge. Did Lucian say in Origin 4 that priests have the task of leading us down the path of divinity?” David nodded his head slowly, not following Lucius’s train of thought. The Reaper let go of his scythe, the sound of metal crashing on the ground met his ears. Some part of David wondered why no one else could hear that. The thought fled when Lucius knelt before him, eyes glittering with something David had never seen before. Was that? Did Lucius feel? The Reaper climbed into his lap, the feeling was like ice, a large block of ice sitting on him, arms wrapped around his neck sent his nerve endings on fire. It was cold. Cold breath reached David’s ear, sending shivers and tingles down his spine. “I think I’m feeling something. Don’t you?” Lucius pulled away just enough to meet the red head’s gaze. The glance wasn’t for more than a second before icy lips enveloped David’s in a kiss. David could only sit in shock. Lucius, a Reaper, was kissing him? How… different. David adapted to the cold feeling, ignoring the warning shivers down his spine as he closed his eyes and deepened it. The Reaper tensed in his arms and groaned when the priest pulled him closer. Thin hands, calloused from the scythe, buried themselves in ruby locks and tugged. This was wonderful. David had never felt this feeling, this emotion. What was it? Was there anything in the Words that described it? No… the scriptures could never come up with the words to describe this emotion. It nothing short of perfect. Even as the Reaper began undressing him, even as he was surrounded by ice, David was happy. David was free. David – David felt loved. David lay there in the afterglow, the pressure of Lucius resting on his form a fuzzy detail in his mind. Exhaustion was catching up to him and David wouldn’t be awake much longer. Lucius moved, shifted; his form pushing himself off David and toward his robes. The Reaper dressed David before dressing himself, blue eyes filled once again with a different emotion. David was barely able to shift his gaze to follow the Reaper. Lucius gingerly picked up his scythe, wincing slightly before meeting David’s gaze. Twig like arms lifted the sharp heavy object into the air, the top just barely reaching the ceiling. Lucius was going to kill him. David couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t move. He felt betrayed, in all meanings of the word. Why would Lucius do something like that? How could he live with himself – that’s right. Lucius isn’t alive. “David,” Lucius’s voice was soft, hesitant even. A complete contrast to the forced laugh of earlier in the week, “I do feel. I do.” Acid green eyes widened just slightly. He recognized that emotion now. Regret. “David, I’ll miss you.” And Lucius let the blade fall. End Story |
Are Lucian and Lucius the same person? I was a little confused about this. it's an interesting story, but I think it could use a little more development. It seemed like an abrupt and rather odd ending. That might be me though. And I think you could easily expand this, if you wanted to.
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“Shadows creep in the darkness. Lights – a tiny flicker, barely scaring it away.” The way you have it now kind of makes it sound like the shadows are the ones lighting the tiny flicker, which I know isn’t what you meant. Quote:
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“Not for the individual sin, but for the act of sinning.” It’s a little more clear there that he’s not enjoying the sin it’s self, but the adrenaline in it like you mention in the next sentence. Quote:
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-- Overall I quite liked it. I always like stories where the ‘bad guy’ is really all that bad. Or else he is actually extremely bad, but is intelligent about it and just seduced David. While both of these are great ways to take the story, I feel like I shouldn’t really have a question about it. As a short story, I think the reader should have a clear idea at the end whether Lucius did, actually, love David. It moved so quickly though, that I felt I couldn’t quite be sure. Of course, I found the same fault in Romeo and Juliet, and look how Shakespeare did with that. =] I also really quite like the way you paint scenery. For the most part you switch up sentence structure quite nicely. I think you might have to watch for switching it up a bit too much during certain parts (especially when starting a sentence with ‘of’). However there was a lot of exposition in the beginning. I understand that with the nature of the story you need to explain so much of the religion to the readers, but you might consider trying to work some of it into the scenery itself. Tell us about the paintings, but have the paintings tell the actual story. Does that make sense? And while the seven princesses are interesting, unless you expand the story, I felt they didn’t have much to do with the story. If you keep this as a short story you could probably cut them out entirely and have the same effect. If you expand upon it, I hope they play a larger role than simply existing. I also felt that we could do with some more of David before all of this happened. I understand it’s a short story, but if we don’t see David before it happens the change he undergoes doesn’t mean very much to us. I do want to mention that I thought you handled the love-making scene quite well. It could have gone down smut road and it didn’t. I congratulate and thank you for that. Because I’m interested in the religion you’ve created, I want to say you should expand upon it and make it longer. But the last line finishes it so cleanly and wraps it up as such a well done short story that I actually think it should remain as such. However, you might consider having this as something of a prelude to a longer story centering around just Lucius? It’s just an idea. Good luck with all of it! |
Well, I loved it. Your scenery descriptions were wonderful and the religion was very interesting. I liked the characters, too. Very strange ending, though. Don't get me wrong, it was a good ending, but I think that you may have taken it too fast. I mean, they had met only two times before. I think if you made it into a multi-chapter story than you would definatly have to stretch the characters and thier personalities more. But as a short story, it was wonderful. If it was ever published as a chapter book, I would buy it in a heartbeat. :D
Hey, if you do continue it, or redo it into something longer, could you inform me? I really would appreciate it. Good luck! ;) |
Hey, have you decided to make it a longer story? I'm not trying to sound pushy, I'm just curious and excited. lol.
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Thank you all so much for your comments, they help me a lot.
@fairywaif = I'll go through and change the names so it's more obvious which one is which. Thank you for that. @Nolori = Oh my, I can't thank you enough for all your editting and commentary. This story will only get better because of your help. I'll be sure to edit it and change certain things, and repost the newer version in this thread. I'd like it a lot if you'd reread it. @Mizayo = Chapter book huh? Believe it or not I was originally going to do that. >.> I was going to call it Words of Angels, and have it split into 6 sections, maybe 3 chapters each. It wasn't really going to be one cohesive story, it was going to have different reapers and different humans in each section, with some overlap from previous and future sections. If you want to know more, I'll let you know as I rewrite the Angel's Fallacy and start the next sections. |
Sorry for double posting, I hope I won't get in trouble.
So here's the second part, can I get opinions on this one as well? It's much shorter than the first. Begin Part Two - The Angel's Ars Dictaminis - Begin Throughout the town of Aralia the Words of Angels were well known and respected. Children were raised to know the spells to evoke the Angels for guidance. Alongside the angels were the Reapers, the Fallen Angels. These Angels were once human, people who turned away from their path in Destiny and denied their own existence; doomed to wander the planet, the fallen finding kindred and reaping their souls. The Words cleared stated there would always be more Reapers than Angels, but in the town of Aralia, the comment was an understatement. Reapers roamed the streets like groups of teenagers. The legend of Reapers being invisible to mortal eyes was invalid; everyone in Aralia was subjected to being harvested at a moment’s notice. Very few mortals in the gothic city managed to remain cheerful in such a dismal atmosphere. The Reapers killed many at a time, only leaving enough people to keep the city populated; no one dared to move inside Aralia, and with the Reapers constant patrol no one dared leave. Mortals were prisoners in Aralia. The young bard Duke was one of the few. He stood on a street corner, playing a guitar, and sung about life, love and how beautiful the world was. Occasionally he’d get coin from random passersby, but very few encouraged his behavior. Singing uplifting songs while standing in one of the most gothic sections of the city (gargoyles and all) wasn’t logical, or entertaining. Duke was one of the townspeople the Reapers avoided. He had the kind of personality that somehow immediately angered the supposed emotionless fallen angels. Only through sheer force of will was he not killed. His favorite place to be, besides his corner at Sixth and Broadway, was the Aralia Library. The library was within the Duomo, a large ancient cathedral that needed renovation. The music scores and books always managed to entertain the musician. And a Reaper resided there. The Reaper was called Lotus by the townspeople, for his hair matched the color of the flower. Lotus didn’t speak to mortals, only to his coworkers and even then it was sparingly. The fallen wandered the archives, acting somewhat as a librarian, guiding the curious students and church goers to the books they requested. Duke liked to think Lotus thought of him as a friend. Lotus would always be waiting for him at the entrance and would lead him to a table in the back. The Reaper would bring him books, music sheets, and sometimes food for nourishment. However, it was the letters Lotus would give him that made Duke happy. The letters revealed more and more about the Reaper, practically informing the mortal that he does feel, that he does have a heart that the Words are lying to the mortals, and that maybe Reapers aren’t killing by choice. But even Duke realized how overly optimistic his claims are. The day everything changed however was the day news arrived in Aralia. Apparently a large group of Priests in the nearby city were killed by the oldest Reaper of all, Lucius. It sent all humans on alert, the Reapers seemed to skip through the streets, cackling. The letter Duke received that day was different than usual: Duke, I have been ordered by the Fallen Angel Leader Lucius to begin a purging of Aralia. I don’t want you caught in the middle. You are too kind to be killed in such a blood bath. On Thursday, head to the main gates of Aralia. I’ll make sure no Fallens are around, use the time to escape from here. Your purity is undeserving of such a fate. Try not to be seen. Try not to be heard. If any of us find you, there is no chance for escape. Even if I find you, Duke, I will be unable to defend you. Trust me, and do as I say. I care for you Duke, I do not want to you get hurt. In the place of a signature was a hand drawn flower, a Lotus in full bloom. Duke took the letter, tucked it in his pocket and darted back home. He couldn’t stay in the library, and he couldn’t leave a letter for Lotus returning the sentiment. He was fond of Lotus, despite the fact the Fallen Angel was emotionless, heartless. He was a constant, something Duke could always count on being in the library. His only hope was to head to Estilia, the city where countless Priests were killed in cold blood. There the Reapers didn’t imprison the mortals. There was at least an aspect of freedom. -.- The date of purging came quicker than Duke could handle. He only managed to gather enough food for travel, he didn’t pack clothes, he didn’t pack his instruments… he was to be a travelling bard with nothing but food. Hiding the food in a small rucksack, Duke used his knowledge of the town to evade wandering Reapers. He had to double back a couple of times, but the bard made his way to the gate flawlessly. No Reaper even glanced in his direction. Eyes widened in shock. The gate to Aralia was open. Actually open! Duke stood gaping; the gate never opened in his lifetime, he was raised to believe it was impossible. But there it was, the beautiful, but terrifying (realistically carved gargoyles did that to him) gate stood open. No Reapers were in sight. Now was his chance! Duke sprinted to the gate. If he got past the gate he was safe. The Reapers were confined to cities by decree of Angels, if Duke could get outside the gate, no Fallen could harm him. A whish sound flew past his ear, another following as a force knocked into his back and pierced his skin. He dropped to the floor, the rucksack broke open and spilled fruits and vegetables across the ground in an arc. Blood pooled around his form as he tried to gasp for breath. It pierced a lung; he probably didn’t have much time. Something grabbed the arrow and twisted it, shoving it deeper into his lung. Squelching noises somehow made it to his ears as Duke screamed and writhed in pain. The Reaper (Duke assumed it was a Reaper) let go of the arrow and lifted his scythe high into the air. With a pain-filled breath, Duke closed his eyes and waited for the blade to fall. -.- Lotus stood over the dead body of Duke, his hair dancing in the small breeze. He glanced to the right, where fellow Reapers stood, watching his every move. He bent down and retrieved the arrow, ignoring the sound of flesh tearing. He could reuse that. End Part Two |
Wow. That was... odd. It was cool and... odd. Awesome! Hehehe, Wicked!
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