[M] In Excelsis Deo [Ashen & Hannelorian]

[Ashen]

Sam couldn’t believe how much he had learned in his first half-year of his own humanity. It was incredible, the difference between studying humans and being one, experiencing for himself all the complexities of a mortal psyche that he’d read so much about. He was getting the hang of things, enjoying his life in this town with his new neighbors, and even though he still didn’t quite understand his emotions, nor how to manage the mood swings that kept him on his toes, he was starting to see the beauty in the range of human feeling.

But while he was given the opportunity to fall in love with his new start, Genevieve was falling further from that same joy. She was different from the woman Sam had first met, now a ghost among her people and a stranger in her own life. Sam watched her warily, offering help where he could, but she often rejected or neglected his kindness. Sam knew what depression was, had seen so many people battle against it while he’d been celestial, but he’d never grasped how painful it could be until he helplessly watched it claim his friend. She had been taking the deaths of her neighbors harder than Sam had given her credit for, and he felt awful for ever doubting her.

He was walking back to her house one day while nursing a stubborn headache and dreaming about dinner. Sam had spent the day tending to a young man who had recently fallen ill. He was showing the same signs poor Mrs. Parker had before her death, which meant he didn’t have much longer left in this world. His every breath seemed like agony, and Sam wondered if euthanasia wouldn’t have been kinder, but his pregnant wife was determined he would make a full recovery. Sam was more realistic than that, but he kept coming to their home, helping them with their chores and feeding the man who was losing his battle for his life.

It had been a taxing day, so when Sam finally returned to Genevieve’s house and unlocked the door with his own key, he kicked off his shoes and let out a long sigh. He didn’t have long to wonder about what was for dinner because the smell found him, something freshly-made and waiting for him already. “Genevieve?” he called as he made his way to the meal she had prepared for him. She always did that, cooked for him, even though it had been harder to do so with the death of the garden, shriveled and blackened as if poisoned. It was beyond either of their understanding.

Sam appreciated dinner, really, but with each day he was more and more uncomfortable taking from Genevieve. That’s all he’d been doing since he’d arrived, taken her kindness, her home, her clothes and her food; everything he was, he owed to this woman, yet what had he given her in return? She’d been instrumental to his acclimation to this town, this life, and he couldn’t even aid her during her time of mourning. He wanted to change that, but it felt like, no matter what he tried, he couldn’t.

With dinner still untouched, Sam wandered to Genevieve’s room, eager to try again. It was probably about time to talk to her again about what was going on, what she hid from everyone else. He gently knocked on her door and called her name. “Do you have a minute?” he asked. “I want to talk.” Sam had helped a lot of people since he’d come to this town, had eased several souls into their eternal rest as peacefully as he could, but that all paled in comparison to the suffering of the person he cared about most, and he would not stop trying to help her.

[Hannelorian]

The demon in the guise of Genevieve stretched and strained in the darkness. The heavy curtains, at this point a worn shade of navy were drawn tightly closed. The air seemed stale as Genevieve lay in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, contemplating what had become of her life. The odds of an Angel cast down from heaven in the same small town that she had chosen to reside in seemed astronomical. Then again, it seemed as though God, in his infinite wisdom would have known exactly what he was doing in sending Sam here. Perhaps this was some sort of strange test for her. What would she do?

The knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and a familiar all too sweet voice called out. Genevieve lifted an arm and dragged it over the beside table, her hand fumbling through the darkness to pull upon the cord which would bring it buzzing back to life. As opposed to the vibrant and bright colors she often worse, she remained in a simple grey sweatshirt and sweatpants, comforting and warm items though reflective of how she had become muted. "Come in, Sam." Genevieve called as she drew her knees in toward her chest, her arms wrapping around them and her eyes trained on the door. "What do you wish to talk about?" There was something akin to a smile on her face, though it didn't seem quite right.

Nothing. Genevieve did nothing. She simply existed. Nothing she had done was directed toward Sam. Rather, only to impact life around Sam, and in a strange way her works had given him meaning. It was she who was making the townspeople sick, it was she who was killing them, slowly and painfully. And it was he, Sam, who was comforting them, easing their passing. It was Genevieve who had spoiled the crops for the town, she had killed their gardens, turning them to little more than piles of rot threatening ever so menacingly to expand beyond their plots.

It was that last part that gave Genevieve such pause. She was giving him meaning, a purpose. Something to do with his newfound mortality and humanity. Was that a mistake? Had she been intending to do that? No. Of course not. But did she oppose it? That was harder to answer. A question that was tossed around in her mind endlessly. Genevieve still cooked for him, preparing his meals diligently and doing so like clock work, never attempting to give up the facade of her reality. Though her facade had changed, Genevieve now appeared to be quiet, withdrawn and depressed. She wasn't the vibrant woman she had once been. She was no longer driven to be social, she simply remained within her private world, slowly working on pulling the strings of all who lived amongst her.

[Ashen]

Sam warily stepped into Genevieve’s room to find her sitting up in bed, watching him. She was dressed plainly, her class outfits a thing of the distant past now. He approached her and tried to offer her a smile. The one she returned to him was wrong somehow, forced and too big and uncomfortable-looking. He wanted to ask her to stop doing that, but the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel worse, so he bit his tongue. Once he’d gotten her permission, Sam sat next to her on the bed and let out a breath, trying to figure out just what to say.

He was no good with words; he never had been. Sam fidgeted with his own hands in his lap as he struggled to figure out all the things he wanted to say. This was too delicate a topic for him to rush in blindly and mess things up. “Hi,” he started with, a little late, and Sam felt the awkwardness of that. He shifted and cleared his throat. “Thank you for dinner,” he added. He hadn’t touched the food she’d made yet, had been hoping they could eat together like they once had, but he appreciated it nonetheless, as well as everything else she still did for him.

There was a reason he was here, and he needed to stop stalling. “I’m concerned for you,” Sam said after another breath. There was concern clear in his eyes, in his drawn brows; he wasn’t skilled in hiding his emotions yet. “You’ve been holed up in this house, in this room, for a while now. I know I didn’t know you before I got here, but you’ve changed. You’re not the same person who welcomed me to this town. You seem miserable, and I’m sorry, I get it, these are dark times, but I…” Sam hesitated. “This doesn’t seem healthy,” he decided to say.

He had tried to find a doctor for Genevieve. Sam had asked around town, but this place was too small to have any resources for mental health, and the nearest clinic she could go to was quite the hike away. He didn’t know where that left him. He was no psychologist, was probably the least qualified person to help anyone struggling like this, but if he was all Genevieve could get, then he was determined to try his best.

“If you think talking about what’s bothering you would help,” he said, looking up at her again, “then I would like to hear what’s on your mind. Having someone to listen might make a difference, right? But if you’d rather not talk, that’s okay too. But…” Sam’s gaze fell as he mentally navigated the minefield of this conversation. “I think you should get out of the house, and talk to your old friends. I’m here to help you do that. I just… I want you to be happy, Genevieve. It hurts me to see such a good person hurt like this.”

He had said what he’d come here to say, so Sam sighed and tried not to expect the worst. He repeated everything he had said in his head, surveying for ways he had been too harsh. But his words were out now, and all he could do was hope.

When he faced Genevieve again, he gave her another sad smile. “Okay?” he prompted, because she didn’t look like she wanted to talk about this. “I want to help you,” he said, “but I need your help figuring out how I can do that.”

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve sat in silence for a few moments as Sam sat down and slowly began to speak his mind to her. She could feel the tension in the air, the discomfort that riddled his voice. Sam did not know how to handle this, he wanted to help, to be there and support her. But he did not know how. He said as much. "You are uncomfortable talking to me." Genevieve said rather plainly, but almost softly as her gaze turned to him, watching him directly now. To claim an emotion was a powerful thin. To own that emotion was even more powerful and here Genevieve was giving him license to be uncomfortable to be confused and concerned all at the same time. After all the range of 'human' emotions were broad and complex, multifaceted and seldom as straight forward as they appeared to be.

"An evening meal is the least I can do." It was the least, as it seemed Genevieve in her current state wasn't capable of much. She clung to her new routine of hiding in the darkness, letting her own inner darkness sustain her as she slowly fed from the Town itself, stealing it's energy for her own. The demon within had never felt better, it was growing more and more satisfied the more people died, the more gardens that died, trees that succumbed to an unknown plague. A known plague. A demonic plague. "The truth is Sam..." Genevieve began to speak her voice was slow and thoughtful.

"I hardly remember who I was before. Before all of this." Genevieve was not lying, the human body wasn't the same as it had been. It belonged entirely to the demon, to Seele now. If she were to leave this body, this host it would simply cease to exist, it would die. But even so, living amongst so pure an individual had begun to unwind the threads of her intent and while her actions continued, indeed at a faster rate than ever before, never had there been such doubt in her work. Never had there been a question of why? Never had there been a thought of a life she had snuffed out. This was no longer true. Genevieve's morality was beginning to shift and that was the most uncomfortable thing of all. She wasn't the same as she had been before Sam arrived.

"I fail to recognize the world around me, for it has so changed. And if the world has changed, then what I had known is gone, and therefore what I was is gone with it, for it has no place now." Genevieve as she had existed didn't belong in this. She didn't deserve to be surrounded with misery and death. She was too light, too airy, too warm hearted. Naturally she would struggle, or so it seemed. She was a person out of time now. Or perhaps out of place was a better description. "So many lost now to this... pestilence." It seemed like an off handed comment, but it was rather intentional and rather serious.

For another few moments she fell into silence. "But perhaps you are right. Too long have I been stuck in this house." Going outside of the house would stop these things from happening. She wondered if temptation would get the better of her, seeing someone close to death might simply make her wish to seal the deal and bring death upon faster, like an anvil falling from the sky. "I appreciate that you think I am a good person."

Genevieve was a good person.
Seele was a foul demon from the depths of hell.
This Genevieve could be a good person. A demon wrapped in the skin of a person had potential to be good, had potential to reexamine their life and their choices.

But did she want to be? Almost. Sam was closer than he knew to changes the tides.

"I am not a good person." Genevieve finally acknowledged with a slight nod of her head, the forced smile now faded from existence. "In my life I have caused much harm. And perhaps I need to atone, instead of hiding away from the world and merely hoping it gets better."

[Ashen]

Genevieve’s accusation was a sharp blow to the chest, but Sam could not deny the truth of it. He was uncomfortable talking with her, and he had been for a long time, but he didn’t think that had to be a bad thing. Some topics were simply uncomfortable, but that did not many them any less important. Genevieve deserved the space to live her truth in whatever form that took, even if it was dark, and he wanted to tell her that, convince her he didn’t mind how uncomfortable she made him, just that he wanted her to be happy, but he didn’t know how.

He didn’t get a chance to. Genevieve continued on, lamenting about how alien she felt in this world, and Sam’s heart broke all over again. Anyone could see the irony of her words given to him of all people, but he took solace in them, in knowing that neither of them was alone. He hadn’t known Genevieve before everything in this town had happened, of course, and he couldn’t speak to how the current Genevieve differed, but he had known her when he’d fallen. He had recognized a selflessness, a kindness, that outshone anyone else in this town. The whole reason he was still here was because she had given him a chance, even though he was a bad person, a liar and a murderer who had taken advantage of her. But Genevieve had forgiven him. Sam couldn’t understand how someone who could see the goodness in a person like him could say such awful things about herself.

“You are a good person,” he insisted. “Even if you aren’t ready to believe that yet, I do. You are.” He let out a breath, wondering how he could continue trying to convince her, or even if he needed to. Maybe that was beyond him right now. When Genevieve conceded to going outside, Sam smiled a little. It was a small victory, but the road to recovery would be paved with those.

He didn’t know what harm she thought she had caused. There was no way Genevieve could think herself responsible for causing the plague affecting their town, was there? Sam gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond to her. “I think everyone has done things they aren’t proud of,” he reasoned. “The important thing is to learn from those things, and make amends how you can, and try to be a better person. Right? It’s not productive or healthy to beat yourself up over it.”

Sam stopped, wondering if he was being a hypocrite. He spent his life now helping other people, gently guiding them to kinder ends than they would otherwise have without him. But was this selflessness not an act, a way to make up for the harm he had caused? He didn’t know. Sam still fell asleep most nights dreaming of the face of that boy he’d let die. Maybe, he considered, he was not qualified to talk about this.

“But if you want to atone,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts and bringing himself back to Genevieve, “then I want to help. You can come with me to help with the sick, just like you did before. Or we can work together to find you something else that gives your life meaning.”

Sam turned towards the window, watching the sun as it began its descent through the clouds. “Though,” he added, “maybe we can start with just a walk?” He smiled at Genevieve again. “Getting out of the house is a good first step. Do you want to walk through town? It’s supposed to rain later tonight, but maybe the heavy air could do you some good.”

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve stared at Sam for a good long while as he spoke. Her mind adrift, though still quietly listening to him speak. Start small. Get out of the house. A reframe of her mindset. Genevieve knew her inner darkness, if she were to see the sick, as Sam tended to them, she would end them. Faster than she already was. But a part of her truly wondered if Sam suspected that she was the root of it all. That the source of the plague that swept the land and it's people was sitting right beside him. "Perhaps a walk."

Simply to step outside, to breathe in the fresh air, with all of it's undertones of sickness, was just the thing she needed. Genevieve thrived in darkness, in chaos, in all things vile, but a part of her she could no longer suppress was yearning for the light, was yearning to do something good. "I don't know, Sam... It's as though I'm lost at sea." Slowly Genevieve rose from the bed and strode slowly across the room toward her closet, opening the wooden door, a pale hand reached out and touched several pieces of fabric, her fingers tenderly stroking each garment as she passed them by.

The yellow sundress she had worn when she first met Sam. It gave Genevieve a moment of pause as she carefully took the garment off of the hanger and pulled it toward her. It smelled of a mix of her detergent and traces of her delicate perfume. In a way it was comforting, reassuring. "I'll just change." She turned back toward Sam and offered the slightest of smiles before leaving her room from the bathroom. With the door closed behind her, Genevieve slowly disrobed and changed into the yellow dress, even if it were to rain, she didn't much care. But it was taking a moment or two to look into the mirror that she saw herself. A beautiful woman, with elegance, grace and poise. A hidden demon, just sitting beneath the surface of her pale flesh.

For a brief moment, Genevieve contemplated simply telling Sam the truth, as boldly as he had once told her. It didn't take long for her to cast that thought aside as she returned to Sam, still sitting on her bed. "The rain will be good for the land... perhaps help it to be restored." Her tone was hopeful, something Sam hadn't heard from her in a long time. Even if she knew the truth that it simply wouldn't recover from rain. It would need her to relent, or an act of God to change the fate she had solidified. "Once around the town then?" Genevieve asked with a bit of a smile as she extended her hand toward Sam, offering him assistance in getting up.

"And perhaps then you can tell me who you've been caring for as of late."

[Ashen]

While Genevieve left to get changed, Sam waited patiently on her be. He was wondering if he was doing the right thing by dragging her out. Even after spending so much time tending to the sick and elderly, it was hard for him to feel like he knew what was best for people. He hardly knew what was good for him. Maybe Genevieve really would be better if he left her alone? No. She wasn’t living like this, and if she couldn’t find it in herself to start her journey to recovery, then Sam would be the push she needed as long as she was willing to humor him.

She emerged, and Sam wondered if she had intentionally chosen the dress she’d been wearing when they first met. It was a cheery thing, pretty even, and Sam took a moment to look it over. The bright color already seemed to give Genevieve a warmer disposition, making her seem far less stuck in her own misery. She wasn’t smiling yet, but she wasn’t frowning either, and he supposed that was a good start. Sam motioned for her to follow him as they left the house and started on their walk.

The rain was approaching more quickly than Sam had thought, and he hesitated at the front door, wondering if he should save their walk for another day. Dark, heavy clouds loomed overhead, casting shadows throughout town. But Genevieve was ready to go, and besides, it was just a little rain. They would be fine. Sam started off with Genevieve beside him.

He told her about his recent patients, the hopeless sick and elderly who had never once shown any sign of improving. It was difficult to talk about, and Sam was still battling his own complex feelings about what he did. It was hard to keep smiling when he was constantly surrounded by such misery. After telling Genevieve about the couple he visited earlier that day, Sam swallowed the lump forming in his throat. This was probably not the best subject of conversation right now. So he pivoted, talking instead about the gossip traded to him, the things he’d overheard while walking through town. Sam had lots to say about their neighbors, almost as if he was now as much a part of thing community as Genevieve had been.

Before they even got halfway through their stroll, the first raindrops fell, splashing against Sam’s nose to spray into his eyes. He wiped at his face and glanced up, frowning. “We should have brought an umbrella,” he said idly. “Let’s head back.” But before he could take another step, the rain fell harder, crashing all around him so suddenly it startled him. They were caught in the middle of a downpour. Sam grabbed Genevieve’s hand and started bounding back towards the house, his entire body already completely soaked. The paths were quickly muddying, but they managed to keep their feet all the way home.

In the foyer, Sam paused to catch his breath as he dripped messily on the rug. He glanced at Genevieve, and she looked even worse than he did: her hair was plastered to her face, twisted at odd, almost charming angles. Sam reached to move the hair out of her face. He then looked at her and laughed. “I’m sorry,” he said once his laughter had died. “I should have suspected the rain would come when it’s most inconvenient.” He smiled apologetically. His eye caught on the window overlooking the garden, and Sam cringed at the blackened leaves, now being weighed down by the rain. Maybe, just maybe, this would make a difference. The rain could give new life the strength to burst through the soil and give them all a symbol of hope. Or maybe he was too optimistic for his own good.

He looked at Genevieve again. “Are you alright?”