[M] In Excelsis Deo [Ashen & Hannelorian]

[Ashen]

Perhaps, Sam considered, he should not have asked such an invasive question. He was being insensitive, and it was in no way fair to Genevieve to bring up such dark memories when she only meant to go for a pleasant walk around town. Sam considered apologizing, but it was too late; he didn’t want to interrupt her now for fear of making things even worse. So he let her speak about the man she had loved, lamenting the solitude Genevieve now felt and the cruel circumstances that had taken her husband from her. The more she spoke, the more Sam wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he didn’t have anything to give. As an angel, he’d been especially bad at empathy—and how could anyone blame him? Angels didn’t feel things like humans did—and now, as a man, he was at a loss about things to say to make the situation better.

Genevieve’s husband had been…murdered. That part was difficult for Sam to hear for a variety of reasons, and he startled at the fear that rippled from his chest. Genevieve had spent all morning assuring him of the kindness of her neighbors, and Sam had believed in their trustworthy nature. But her husband had been killed for his trust, so how could Sam be kind to anyone now? He turned away, considering that. If he found himself in a similar situation, how would he react? Sam didn’t want to distrust everyone around him, but he didn’t want to get killed for his naivety either. He’d spent so long as an angel, fearless; would that make him an easy target? Luckily, angels had plenty of god-given gifts that he could use to—oh. Sam was simply a man, equipped only with his two fists and a penchant for finding trouble wherever he went. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for a place like this after all.

But when Sam turned back towards Genevieve, the thought evaporated, and he felt silly for thinking it. Here was someone who had experienced such terrible, senseless loss, but still found the strength to be a good person. She was kind enough to share her home, her time, her stories with a complete and frankly suspicious stranger. Sam wanted to be more like her, kind despite his surroundings, and true to himself despite his circumstances. But first, he still needed to find out what kind of man he was.

Before he had a chance to respond to Genevieve, or try—and likely fail—to comfort her, she was starting away from him. He watched her for a moment, shocked that he’d already messed up this, too. Now, he was sure he should have kept his stupid mouth shut. “Genevieve,” he softly called after her. “I…” What? What could he say to excuse his tactless curiosity? Even as she had cried to him, his thoughts had gone not to comforting her but to his own safety. Sam cursed himself. If he wanted to pass as a man—a respectable man—he really needed to get better at considering other people.

When he caught up to her, he grabbed her hand and forced her attention to him. “Genevieve,” he said again, “I’m sorry for bring it up. It was careless of me.” He tried on a sympathetic smile. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I promise to never bring it up again.” His gaze flicked towards the house they were standing in front of now. Evidently, their walk was about to be cut short. Sam cursed his clumsiness, his bad luck, and for a moment, he wondered if she would be better off if he left now and never disrupted her life again.

The thought was immature, and Sam quickly wrote it off. After all, where would he be without Genevieve? He smiled again. “Why don’t you take it easy for the rest of the day? I can cook us some dinner later if you don’t mind showing me where some things are. I can even garden for you.” Did he know enough about plants to offer that? Sam shrugged. How hard could it be? “And,” he added, “thank you. For telling me what happened.” He let go of her hand, suddenly feeling very awkward for having taken it. He looked towards the house again. “Do you have tea? Would you like me to start the water?”

[Hannelorian]

The part of Seele that ached for Genevieve was surprising. Never had she truly expected to feel anything toward the woman whose body she held captive, whose soul she compressed into nothing but a little ball. The empathy, no, perhaps it wasn't quite that strong, rather the sympathy was something that took her by surprise, caught her off guard. How inconvenient the emotions of humans were. How troubling and seemingly useless. What good would it to do be sad? Doesn't that just distract from the reality of life? Does it not make everything too difficult? Why not just trudge through it all? She supposed that ultimately it did not matter.

When caught up to her, he had apologized. Genevieve turned around and offered a faint smile, one that was not forced, but echoed some of what she was feeling. "You need to stop apologizing." Largely because she found it annoying, but because in reality he had nothing to be sorry for. "You've done nothing wrong. You asked a question, and it was my choice to answer it." Choice, yes, it was a choice wasn't it? Seele had chosen to take that information from Genevieve and share it, pass it off as her own. She did not have to provide an answer, after all she was not forced. Was it just for the sympathy from Sam? No. She wouldn't have to try that hard to pull him in and keep him on tender hooks as it were.

"Just because something is pain, does not mean we should run from it or avoid it. The pain of a broken heart must be confronted. Not so that it may dominate us, or crush us, but so we may come to terms with it. Otherwise we never truly move on."

Even Demons felt pain, loss and suffering. Not just because that was their fate, but because just as much as another living creature they too were capable of great feeling. Though it was easier to run from it, to push it down, to focus on the mission before them. Her mission had been simple, and now it had become grossly complicated. What was she trying to do anymore? It didn't seem all together clear. Why was the Angel here? Genevieve or Seele supposed it did matter, the purpose of a divine being was always to be taken with suspicion. But what if it wasn't all that simple? Nothing ever was.

In all of this she realized he had taken her hand. Looking down at their hands intertwined for a moment there was an odd sense of warmth. It was not the burning of Angel flesh she expected. It almost felt... nice. "Perhaps your memory is coming back." She added softly, he had brought up cooking and gardening. These were skills an angel could have, certainly. But for this guise of ignorance, it seemed strange. "Perhaps you best leave the garden to me." Genevieve added, in all honesty it was something that Seele the demon had been rather proud of. There was a simple pleasure in caring for plants, in growing ones food, in maintaining a connection with the Earth that stood between Heaven and the depths of Hell.

"But if you wish to cook, for us... I would... appreciate that." Expressing gratitude was an equally odd sentiment, but one that for the time being she would need to force herself to being comfortable with. When her hand was free she moved to step inside of the small house, removing her hat and placing it on a hook by the front door. She took care to gently remove she had worn, and watched as her toes stretched and flex against the cool wooden floor. "The tea is in cupboard... you can't miss it." The jar it was contained in was marked 'Tea' after all. These little creature comforts that humans had and held dear were oddly pleasant. But all the while, she had kept a careful eye on the invisible thread of magic that connected her to the dying couple in the next house.

Seele did the unexpected, and cut the cord. While it was unlikely they would survived, they now at least had the chance.

[Ashen]

As Genevieve shed her hat and shoes and got comfortable in her home, Sam closed the front door behind them and tried to do the same. He wandered towards the kitchen in search of the tea and peered into the cupboard she’d pointed out. From there, it was easy to find the kettle, fill it with water, and set the water to boil. Even though he was quiet, his thoughts were anything but calm. He was thinking, or overthinking, about what Genevieve had said about pain and the need to let it out. It was such a human thing to say, and he’d heard it before, of course, but he’d never had reason to pay it any mind. Now, though… Maybe there was some truth to it. And maybe that was what he needed: a place to vent about his heartbreak too. Heartbreak. Was that what it was called when your own god abandoned you?

Such philosophy was hard to stomach, though, and Sam tried shifting his thoughts to something more tangible. He sniffed at the container of tea, trying to place its flavor. Tea wasn’t his favorite, but he had always figured that drinking it was more about the ritual of it than the actual taste. He turned towards Genevieve to ask her what type it was, but she seemed to be contemplating something herself. Sam assumed it was about her husband, and he felt bad all over again. He swallowed his question and turned his attention back to the kettle. She had said it was fine, but Sam wondered if she wasn’t being polite for his sake.

Even though he was watching it, when the kettle went off, Sam startled. He laughed at his reaction before moving it off the burner. With Genevieve’s help, he located twin mugs to fill with water and tea leaves, and he set them on the table. “I would offer to bring you milk and sugar,” he said, “but I’m not sure where you keep them.” Once she’d told him, he was happy to provide a sugar dish, a spoon, and a small jug of milk. He sat across from her and dripped some milk into his mug. As the silence again stretched between them, he considered apologizing—for ruining their walk, for being a burden, for any of the many things he had to apologize for—but, remembering Genevieve’s words, he held his tongue.

Aside from the usual pleasantries and offers to pass the sugar, Sam didn’t speak during tea. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do with his hands. He emptied his mug too quickly, shifted awkwardly, and drumming his fingers against the wood of the table. Being idle and uncomfortable like this was physically painful to him, and he needed to do something about it. “Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Is there a library near here?” He had never had much luck focusing on books, but if he could read about humanity and the things he probably should have known, he figured it would save him a lot of awkward questions and stares. “Maybe next time we go out you could show me?” he suggested, though he shook his head. “Or, if you’d prefer, you can point me in the right direction, and I’m sure I could find it and get back here without too much difficulty.” Maybe going alone was the smarter idea; he didn’t know how Genevieve would react to him trying to teach himself about emotions, and he didn’t need to give her more reasons to think he was a weirdo.

Sam took their empty mugs back to the kitchen, and after washing them out, he glanced around to find out what he was working with for dinner. While Genevieve watched, he poked through her pantry and tried to think of something he could cook with such ingredients. It might have been a little early—he didn’t know when Genevieve liked to eat—but at least this way, he felt like he was being at least somewhat useful.

[Hannelorian]

That was the thing about Angels, wasn't it? They were always so optimistic, and so unaware of the realities of the human experience, even if they had been guardians themselves. The rituals and routines of humanity seemed to puzzle those above. It was like the gap had only widened over the centuries, and with a general desire of Angels not to interfere, the gap continued to grow and grow until there might no longer be an option to bridge it.

Seele thought the opposite, Demons were used to suffering, they were used to torture. Sure, of course they made their living torturing others, guaranteeing the suffering and poor fate of humanity, but in their world too, they suffered. They were made to pay the price far worse than any Angel ever had. What kind of God casts down his own child? What kind of God would allow such suffering to happen? It made the other side seem all the less appealing. All the more tragic, upsetting. Who would want to be an Angel? A demon at least understood. Or perhaps Seele was going soft in her older age.

Genevieve all the while observed Sam, and noted the somewhat painful or awkward silences between them. She was ever the observer, what would he do? What would he struggle with? As every hour passed he seemed to smell less and less of the heavenly plane and more like those who dwelled on the Earth. Was this normal? Seele and Genevieve did not know. It seemed to matter little anyway. Sam was clearly in the process of overthinking his actions from the walk, questioning his comments, wondering just how deeply he had cut her, hurt her. Would it be worth to make him writhe in such pain and discomfort? Or was there something a little more virtuous that could be ensured.

Sam was unusually quiet during the tea service. He often talked a lot, but now there was little he could say and Genevieve let it pass, quietly sipping at the tea all the while. In truth, she too, did not entirely care for it. But it was just as human as any other action she could have taken, to stop and observe, partake in rituals and traditions. They all seemed so pointless, but tradition and ritual was something she could understand. That felt familiar and welcome. "What is it you're looking for Sam?" Genevieve finally asked, in a somewhat sweet voice.

This should be interesting, what could an Angel possibly need from a library? Did they not possess all knowledge? Perhaps he wanted to read up on Demons, or what humans knew about Angel kind? Though surely he would know that as well. Genevieve or Seele, one in the same finally started to understand what had happened, and she was ashamed it had taken her so long to figure out. Genevieve's mouth had upturned into a smile as she watched him.

"But of course. I would gladly take you in the morning, if you'd like. I'm not sure letting you wander of your own accord is advisable given your memory loss." Why pass up on the fun of watching Sam embarrassing himself in public? Struggling to fit in, to be one of the people he seemed not at all to understand. "It's a small library, a limited selection. But surely there is something there for you." Another smile and tilt of the head as she watched him. Genevieve then watched as he turned his attention to her pantry and other cupboards, again looking for something unknowable.

"You're also welcome to look through the garden. Just not the tomatoes... they're still growing." Genevieve offered some help, or a suggestion. "Or if you'd like, I can teach you to cook something." Seele wasn't sure how long she would let this ruse last, but for the moment it made sense to hold on to the image she had created.

[Ashen]

Sam admired Genevieve’s consideration for him. He knew, in her declining his suggestion to go to the library today, that she was just looking out for him, and he did appreciate that. But Sam turned away from her and sighed. He was feeling trapped by the lie he’d told, and he didn’t know how to fix that without telling Genevieve things she would never believe. Besides, even if for some reason she took his words as truth, Sam didn’t want Genevieve to think any lesser of their god. Maybe, he tried convincing himself, waiting until tomorrow was a good thing. He hoped his head would be a bit less fuzzy in the morning, and that he could for once in his life focus on the books long enough to learn something.

When Genevieve offered him options about how to spend the rest of their day, the man put a contemplative finger to the side of his mouth and glanced around the room. He had offered to help her garden, though cooking seemed a more important skill at the moment. He would need to get better at food preparation now that he needed to eat to survive. Sam looked out the window, at the sun in the sky, and wondered if they didn’t have time for both. “I’d like to see your garden,” Sam said with a small nod. “Here, let me get these.” He was quick in clearing away the empty tea mugs and putting the sugar back where he’d found it. Then, he barely waited for Genevieve before heading outside.

It was probably very boring, living out here all by herself, so it wasn’t surprising that Genevieve had found a hobby. Sam was still impressed, though, at her attention to detail. When he had first seen her garden, far away from it as he had been, he hadn’t noticed the neat little rows she had carved into the soil. Each plant seemed perfectly measured to be the same distance from every other plant. They were in various stages of growth, and Sam noticed the tomatoes first. Even if Genevieve had said they weren’t ready yet, Sam could have been fooled. Most of them were a pale green, though they otherwise looked plump and ready to eat. A few of them had stretches of red and orange, and even if Sam didn’t know much about gardening, he figured those ones had to be ready soon.

“It must have taken ages to make this.” Sam cast his arm all around him. He noticed a cucumber plant by his foot and knelt down. There were a couple cucumbers ready for harvest, and Sam ran his fingers over them. “It feels…satisfying. All of the vegetables you could want, right in your own backyard. With all the hard work it takes to grow these things, I bet there’s no greater feeling than eating something you’ve so carefully grown.” He wondered, absently, if he would ever get a feeling like that, but that would involve staying in one place long enough for something to grow. Sam shrugged. It was too early to know what he’d do yet, but the thought of a tomato he’d grown himself was…nice.

Once they’d finished in the garden, Sam and Genevieve returned inside. Sam was getting hungry, a feeling he still wasn’t used to, and he turned towards the kitchen. “Should we get started on dinner?” he suggested. “What are we making today?” There were still so many human foods he needed to try, and he wondered if Genevieve would be using anything from her garden again. He found his way to the cutting board and knife he’d used yesterday and, determined to be more helpful than their last meal prep, he listened to Genevieve’s instructions and tried to take mental notes. Next time, he hoped, he would be able to make her something without her help.

It wasn’t long after dinner that they were preparing for bed again. Genevieve had offered Sam some new pajamas, and after splashing his face with water and sleepily retreating to his borrowed bedroom, he climbed into bed. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Sam wondered, again, what he was doing here. He questioned the god who had abandoned him with nothing but the tacky clothes on his back, and he asked aloud what he would have to do to prove himself to his lord. Did Genevieve play a role in that? She was a blessing to him, and he didn’t know where he would be without her. The need to do something in return for her was overwhelming, but what? He wanted to help, but he was helpless. Why had his god left him like this?

Sam fell asleep with that thought, cursing the god who’d humiliated him, praising the woman who’d saved him, and wondering what things they would find at the library tomorrow morning. He didn’t know what to expect, but he hoped he could learn even just one thing about the humans he should have paid attention to when he was not yet a man.

[Hannelorian]

Seele, in the skin of Genevieve, did in fact, enjoy gardening. It was, as Sam had suggested incredibly satisfying. There was a small joy in being able to grow something for one's self. There was no need for spells or demonic magic, just a need to be patient and considerate. Attentive to a fault. Yes, Genevieve had started this project long before Seele had arrived and suppressed her. But Seele had taken great care of this creation, and had even begun to plant and raise produce of her own. A delicate touch was something the Demon had not been used to, generally preferring violent broad strokes. Seele was a blunt instrument of pain and torture, but here she had to be restrained and intentional. To act with forethought.

Sam and Seele's journey in a sense was not entirely dissimilar. As Seele climbed into bed, having changed into a white silken slip, one of the few items of luxury that Genevieve possessed, she contemplated her own way. Some months before, a woman had emerged from the forests and made her way toward the village. She was unassuming, middle aged, with brunette hair and worn clothing, the kind that gave the impression of hard work and bordering on poverty. A woman who was salt of the earth with a kind face.

In a house on the town's edge was a beautiful young woman, making her way about the yard before finally settling in on her knees, gloved hands holding gardening sheers were carefully pruning a rose bush. Occasionally those hands would pause in contemplation before quickly deciding to cut the occasional rose itself and place it into a long but narrow wooden basket with handle. After a time, the young woman looked up and out into the distance, a hand moving to press against her forehead to block the morning sun and caught sight of the other woman approaching slowly.

The two women met, some distance from the house. A few words were exchanged before the woman from the forest reached out and held on to Genevieve's arm. Both bodies would drop to the ground and lie motionless for some period of time. When all was said and done only Genevieve rose again, a wicked smile spread across her face. The other woman was left nothing more than a husk on the ground, now wrinkled and bone thin. Entirely devoid of life, while in stark contrast Genevieve looked younger, her soft skin almost glowing.

"Goodbye old friend." She whispered to the corpse. That was it, the moment that Genevieve had ceased to be, locked deep down and away, her memories invaded, her every thought perused and controlled by the demon who had left her previous host behind. Genevieve, or Seele, rather slowly returned to the house and assumed a life that was not her own. Several days later, the corpse would be found. Reports from a neighboring village would confirm her identity, the woman had gone missing, and assumed dead. They were correct, but the body scarcely resembled the woman that had left. So was the power of Seele, a cruel demon who sucked every last bit of life from the body.

Seele remained still in bed. The light of the moon gently streaming in through the windows of her bedroom, casting a faint glow across some of the furniture, bending and lengthening the shadows. Mind racing with thoughts of Sam. He seemed so innocent, so kind. He seemed to lack the arrogance Seele typically associated with Angels, while smelling less of heaven with each passing moment. It bothered her. It felt uncomfortable that Seele could not quite figure it out.

Slowly, her delicate and pale hands pulled back the bed clothes that covered her, legs swung out and feet planted gently on the floor. She pushed herself up to stand, hands having pressed into the old mattress. The demon made her way across the room to a photo hanging on the wall. It was framed nicely, a little worn from what seemed to be hands taking it off the wall and holding it. Depicted were two figures, one clearly Genevieve in a long white dress with an impressive train and veil trailing down her back, following seemingly endless white buttons. In one hand was a brilliant bouquet of brightly colored flowers, no doubt ones that Genevieve had grown herself.

The other hand was holding the hand of the other figure, a suit clad man. Both were photographed from behind, their heads turned slightly toward the camera, as though they were looking back on their past lives and saying a few words of parting. The man was handsome, and strangely, not entirely dissimilar to Sam's appearance. There was a knowing smile on both of their faces, as though their next move would be to glance at one another. Genevieve's memories informed Seele that this had been her wedding day, one of the happiest days of her life. The feelings of warmth and joy welled within the demon, while the soul within cried out.

Moving then toward the door, Seele opened it and made her way into the hall, turning then to the door to Sam's room where she knocked ever so softly before opening it, and making her way toward the bed in which he slept. "I don't mean to disturb you." A sweet voice said, before kneeling down. "I.. can't sleep... and wondered if you might be having trouble too."

[Ashen]

Sam was pulled from his tumultuous dreams by the sounds of someone’s voice far away. As his eyes fluttered open and he remembered where he was, he realized the voice wasn’t so distant, and that it belonged to Genevieve, who was kneeling by his bed. He sat up and turned to her while wiping the sleep from the corners of her eyes. “Genevieve?” Sleep still coated his voice, and he punctuated her name with a soft yawn. Replaying her words in his mind, he shook his head. Since becoming a mortal man, he’d had little trouble falling asleep. He’d been too exhausted. Though there were the nightmares; was that what Genevieve meant? Sam kicked his legs from under his covers and swung them over the edge of the bed to fully face her.

It was early. Sam still couldn’t see the sun rising through the bedroom window, and he didn’t feel nearly rested enough to be waking up. He wondered how much of that was because of the early hour and how much could be attributed to his newfound mortality and unwelcome need to rest. He took a few moments to shake himself awake before looking at Genevieve again. This time, he noticed what she was wearing. Her nightgown looked comfortable and elegant, almost provocative, and Sam wondered what she had meant by coming in here in something like that. He quickly scolded himself for the thought; he didn’t know why he kept suspecting ulterior motives from his host when she’d shown him nothing but kindness. Sam stretched his shoulders back, let out a long yawn, and finally got up from bed to offer a hand to Genevieve.

“I’m sorry about your sleep,” he said. He wiped at his eyes, still not awake. Sam didn’t like losing out on his sleep, and he probably wouldn’t feel truly awake for a while yet. “Do you… Is there anything that helps with that? Getting to sleep when you feel like you can’t?” Sam thought back to his old life, to the town he had watched over as an angel. Many of the children in town had claimed they suffered from insomnia, but even then Sam knew they’d been lying just so they could stay up and play with him. The elders, on their late-night walks, had told him the fresh air had helped them, or a cup of tea, or a good book. Sam thought to suggest one of those things, but he stopped himself. Looking back at the window, he wondered how far away daybreak really was. Did Genevieve even want to go back to sleep? He did, but he decided to keep that to himself.

Sam resigned himself to the idea of staying awake. If he was going to be up early, he figured he might as well get started on the day. “Why don’t we make breakfast?” he suggested. “I know it’s a bit early for that, but I think getting some food in me would help me to wake up a bit more. Let me handle all the cooking.”

He left his room to go to the kitchen, Genevieve in tow. Though she had shown him how to make dinner twice now, Sam knew breakfast was completely different. Did he even remember which foods were reserved for morning? Human customs were so strange. Eggs, he knew of those at least, and maybe toast, a kind of meat… Nodding to himself, Sam took to locating the different ingredients and tools in Genevieve’s kitchen. As he did, he looked over his shoulder at her. “Do you want to talk about what’s keeping you up?” he suggested. “Or, if not, why don’t you tell me a story? And don’t you dare try to help with breakfast, unless it looks like I’m about to set the place on fire. I really want to repay you for everything you’ve done for me, and you deserve someone cooking for you sometimes.”

Sam faltered in the beginning, but once he located everything and started cooking, he caught on quickly. He had always learned things better by doing them rather than watching or listening, and he was certain his next cooking attempt would be even better than this. In just a while, after only one burnt sausage, Sam was serving Genevieve a full plate. He took his own serving and sat across from her at the table. It wouldn’t come close to making up for everything she’d done for him, but…it was a start. He hoped the food and the conversation would help her to feel better about her disrupted sleep.

“If you tell me how to make coffee,” he added, an afterthought, “I can do that too.” Though he had to admit, the caffeine was probably more for his benefit than hers.

[Hannelorian]

To suspect an ulterior motive was one thing Sam should have done. And for Genevieve, well she began to doubt herself. Was she not attractive or appealing enough to lure a fallen angel? Had she not tried hard enough? She supposed it did not matter, it appeared that the temptations of the flesh would not be the wisest way to force him into confession. But now that her loosely put together plan had not succeeded, she needed to focus on the more human elements of a given situation. The question was how to do that most effectively? Humble. Be humble.

"Thank you..." Genevieve raised a hand to scratch her head lightly as she followed him back to the small kitchen. A place she had never spent quite this much time before Sam arrived only a day or so ago. "The offer is quite kind." It was true, he was very kind, exactly as she had anticipated he would be. "But you should go back to bed... you need your rest. I don't know what I was thinking to wake you like that..." Genevieve had now forced something of a small smile upon her face, and an all too genuine appearing look of embarrassment.

But then he was already in the process of cooking, and for a fleeting moment Genevieve or Seele did feel somewhat bad. "I guess... I'll make the coffee." Without too much trouble Genevieve had moved to the small coffee making device, one of those press kinds and set to work on preparing it, without even realizing it she had adapted her formula to make sure it was stronger than normal, for the benefit of Sam. These small acts of kindness were things she was generally unaware of, just hiding beneath the surface of her consciousness. Were parts of Genevieve waking and slipping to the surface? No. Seele was beginning to grow accustomed to her new companion whether she liked it or not.

When the coffee was complete, Genevieve prepared a cup and saucer, pouring the liquid in and placing it at Sam's position on the small table. "I don't know what's keeping me awake..." A lie, of course she knew. "I suppose I'm worried for you." The only thing Sam had to worry about was Genevieve. "I can't imagine what you're going through... not really knowing who you are... and just being here, in the home of a stranger." She let out a small sigh, and a shake of her head. "That's not what you'd want to hear though, is it?"

Genevieve ate a little of the food that was offered to her, prepared for her. She should have been grateful. "A story. Hmm." She paused for a moment in thought.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who died. The man’s work was the writing and telling of stories, but he could not defy death. The last story he was working on was about a brave and handsome prince who vanquishes a crafty raven. But now, it seems their battle will go on for eternity.

“I’m sick and tired of this!” cried the raven.
“I’m sick and tired of this!” cried the prince as well.

The raven escaped from the pages of the story, and the prince pursued the fell creature. In the end, the prince took out his own heart and sealed the raven away by using a forbidden power. Just then, a murmur came from somewhere. “This is great!” said the old man who was supposed to have died."

Genevieve looked down into her own cup of coffee and for a moment looked at her own rippled reflection. "My mother used to tell me that. I think she meant to say we should not be confined by what is written for us, we are more than that. We are the ones who define our own destiny, we need not depend on a writer or magic."

[Ashen]

Sam didn’t miss the way Genevieve’s expression seemed to fall, as if she regretted waking him up. He wanted to comfort her, reassure her that it was no problem at all, but he thought bringing attention to it might have made it worse, so he held his tongue. He really was happy to make an early breakfast for her. It was good cooking practice, and it was a tiny way he could give back to her for all she’d done for him.

Though to hear that he was the cause of her concern, so much so that she was losing sleep over it, made him feel a little sick. He had already been such a burden to her over these past couple days, and he didn’t want to add even more to that. Sam needed to quickly get acclimated to his new life, figure out how to be a functional human being and find his place in this new world, so that Genevieve wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. But until he did all that… He supposed being woken up like this wasn’t the worst fate.

Once breakfast had been made, Sam sat across from Genevieve at the table and tried to down his coffee at a respectable pace. It was too hot to gulp down how he wanted to, but its steady warmth down his throat helped to keep him from dozing off. When he went to take a bite of his food, he noticed that Genevieve was barely touching hers. Sam wondered if he’d made it wrong, if he’d switched up the ingredients or added too much or too little of something. When he tasted from his own plate, though, he thought the flavors were fine. Something to bring up later, he thought.

When she began her story, Sam sat up and focused his attention on Genevieve. It was a grim story, and he was surprised to hear that her own mother would have told her something like that. Sam had never had a mother, of course—no angel did, since they were born into and raised by a community, not a nuclear family like most humans—but he had always thought mothers were not keen on scaring their children with such unsettling stories. Though when Genevieve explained the meaning behind it, he set his fork down and considered her words in a new light.

By now, it was impossible for Sam to ignore the way she was speaking directly to his heart. “You chose that story…for me,” he murmured. His gaze fell to something behind her, not quite looking at anything at all. Genevieve didn’t know the home he had been banished from, nor did she know the circumstances of his excommunication, but maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe she was still right about that one thing. We are the ones to define our own destiny. Was it really okay to ignore what he was created for and follow his own path?

It took another few minutes before Sam realized he had let the silence settle between them, and he shifted in his seat while he awkwardly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled with a crooked smile. “It was an interesting story. Your mother sounds very wise.” He glanced at his plate, not yet empty, but he’d lost his appetite. Sam’s mind wandered. He’d felt fear and anxiety about his fall and how he was going to get back to heaven, sure, but he hadn’t felt pressure to figure out his situation before now. It weighed on his shoulders, impossible to lift, and Sam didn’t know what to do with it. How could an angel know what he was when he was no longer an angel? Sam couldn’t just ask anyone, not without marching straight into hell and speaking with the only other angel who’d survived a fall—and he certainly wasn’t about to do that.

Sam stood from the table and took his plate away. He would save the rest for leftovers maybe, since Genevieve hadn’t eaten much either. There was no use in sitting and staring at food they weren’t going to touch anymore, and he was growing anxious being still for too long. Sam looked out the window and saw the sky outside awash with the colors of sunrise. “What time did you say the library opened?” he asked.

[Hannelorian]

For a moment Seele wondered what Genevieve's mother actually had been like. Was she kind? Beautiful? Smart? Did she follow the rules or did she challenge authority? Was she doting and caring? Or absent and unconcerned? Did it matter? No. Seele supposed it did not, but if for just a moment in time she quieted down just enough she could bring some of those feelings to surface. Just enough to get a general picture without freeing her for too much emotion or distinct memories. There was a certain warmth there, something that had eluded Seele for much of her own years of existence. The kind of warmth that slowly rose through one's body, the kind that was reassuring, almost like an embrace for a frightened child. As quickly as it had come, it was gone and Seele had her answer. Genevieve did indeed seem to have a loving mother, at least at some point before she ultimately perished. So then her soul must be there, somewhere in the ethereal plains of Elysium, lost to life only to gain immortality, something Seele felt no human truly deserved.

In reality the story had been a simple work of fiction she had picked up somewhere along the way. Perhaps from one of the many souls she had tortured, those who needed cleansing and atonement, or those who simply had nothing else of meaning to give upon their death and arrival in the domain of the fallen angel himself. Seele did not dwell much on it beyond the telling, though it almost gnawed at her that she could not place it's exact origins. Perhaps she too had lost touch with her own, her purpose, was she no longer as attached to work as she had been? Was that why she chose to break free herself?

"My mother was many things." Genevieve spoke softly. "Wise was certainly one of them." That simple statement seemed and felt true enough, all humans were pesky and complicated, they seemed to have many sides and so it was a believable enough generalization that it might have just been true. But did it matter? Of course not. So long as he believed her. Perhaps the idea of manipulating his destiny was more entertaining. Or perhaps now she simply had to know what happened. Curiosity was a vile thing, and allegedly killed more cats than anything else in the realm.

Yes. The Library. Genevieve had made that promise and she would indeed make good on it, if for now other reason than perhaps he would open more, reveal more, or at the least she could spy on what he was reading. Though for all she knew maybe Sam just wished to catch up on current events and that would be horrifically dreadful. Was he looking for a way back?

"Ah, a little after 8 o'clock." Genevieve raised a hand and scratched at her head for a moment before standing. "Just a couple of hours. Why don't you get some rest." Genevieve looked at her surroundings and smiled a bit, she slowly began to clear things away and prepare them for storage. "You cook, I clean. Those are the rules." Within a moment Genevieve had produced a ribbon from who knows where and tied her hair up setting up to complete the rest of the tasks. "Perhaps shower, or... I don't know. We should probably get you clothes of your own. Seems silly to keep putting you in... those." Genevieve avoided directly invoking her late husband or his memory. "You deserve an identity all your own, even if you're still figuring the rest out."

Genevieve turned to watch Sam cast his eyes out of the window at the dawning of the day. "Beautiful, isn't it?" She didn't even have to lie, it was truly a wonder to take in. "The best part of the morning is watching the sun rise. The fact that it always does is something of a comfort to many." Another smile crossed her lips. "Besides, it's late enough now that I can go check on the neighbors. See how the situation is. Bring some tea for their carers."