[M] In Excelsis Deo [Ashen & Hannelorian]

[Ashen]

Maybe Genevieve was starting to know Sam a bit too well. Just before he had the chance to thank her profusely for her gifts, her words made him snap his mouth shut, and his cheeks colored at the embarrassment of being called out. It was strange to feel cared about like this, and to have the guilt of not doing anything in return shut down so easily. He shifted while she continued. He hadn’t given all that much thought to wearing her dead husband’s clothes—clothing was clothing, was it not? It wasn’t like he was going to crawl out of his grave and ask for it back—but seeing the grief on her face when she mentioned the man, Sam wondered if he should have felt more remorse. He’d likely been reminding her of her husband all this time, and he cursed himself for not even thinking of that. At least now, in his own clothes, he could be more considerate. “Thank you,” he said anyway, unwilling to let her kindness go unacknowledged.

Sam wrapped his hands around his mug, almost flinching at how hot it was, but he managed to not be weird about it. He nodded along as he listened to Genevieve talk about her outing. This sickness she mentioned definitely was concerned, and he remembered the people gathered outside the house they’d passed on their walk. Not for the first time, Sam wondered if he should be staying in such a place at all, but he shook his head. He wasn’t about to leave Genevieve alone after all this. While he sipped at his tea and listened to her, he made a mental note to ask about the sickness later. If he couldn’t cure it without his angel abilities, then there must have been some other way he could help.

“The church?” Sam repeated the words, defensive about the suggestion. What did Genevieve know about him that would make her want to take him to the church? He drew a breath, scolding himself. It was an innocent suggestion; plenty of people went to pray at their god’s house of worship, and that didn’t mean Genevieve suspected him of being closer to his god than he let on. He chuckled quietly before realizing how weird that probably seemed to Genevieve. Sam cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Yes,” he agreed, “maybe it would be worth a try.”

Even when he’d been an angel, Sam had never cared for human churches. He had always found them too quiet, too stuffy, and way too pretentious. He hadn’t been close to his god, exactly, but he’d known the guy personally, enough to know that the benevolent deity probably didn’t care for all the pomp. He’d been more concerned about keeping his people happy and loving, so really, a dreary church where everyone was silent and miserable was probably counterproductive to honoring their god. But what did Sam know? He had only been to human masses a handful of times, and he’d been kicked out of most of them. It wasn’t his fault; church people were so vicious towards those who couldn’t sit still, and he’d never felt comfortable enough to try. The thought of going back made him nervous. What if he made a fool of himself again, like he was prone to do, and this time, Genevieve pegged him as some sort of irreverent monster?

They finished their tea and prepared to go out, and Sam followed Genevieve to the church. All the while, he tugged at the sleeves of his new sweater. They didn’t bother him, but they were great for his hands, which always needed to be doing something. He didn’t even notice how much he was fussing until Genevieve stopped. Sam prepared an apology for the distraction, but he then realized she had paused because they’d arrived.

The church was small, which made sense considering the size of the town. It looked old and maybe a little worn, though sturdy and tidy. Once Sam stepped inside, his eyes instantly fell on the stained glass windows. They were beautiful, depicting various holy images, and they cast the church in vibrant colors. The pews were mostly empty, though a couple people were kneeling with their eyes closed. One woman fiddled with the beads of a necklace as she murmured to herself, and Sam paused. He was supposed to…pray, now, wasn’t he?

They climbed into a pew together, and while Genevieve knelt, Sam twiddled his thumbs. What did he have to say to a god who had abandoned him? And why did he have to do it in public? His discomfort was clear on his face, but he tried to swallow his feelings and kneel. His god probably didn’t want anything to do with him anyway. Sam was still for only a few short seconds before turning to Genevieve to ask to get out of here. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed like she was praying, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. Sam faced forward and closed his eyes, then tried to talk to his god. Um, hi, he thought, wondering if his god was paying attention to him anymore. I haven’t gotten myself killed yet. Are you surprised?

He shifted awkwardly again. This was definitely weird. Sam decided he really did not like being in churches. Thanks, again, for not killing me, he thought, an ending to what barely counted as a prayer. He then sat back in the pew and waited for Genevieve to finish.

[Hannelorian]

Shimmering light streamed in through the stained glass windows. The figures depicted, the events were all known to Genevieve, known to the world. The triumphs of man in the name of God, even if that meant the ultimate sacrifice, the final sacrifice. The concept of martyrdom seemed overrated to Genevieve. Was it truly worth sacrificing one's own life for the glory of God? Did God really give a shit about one human life being snuffed out? After all, hundreds upon thousands had been killed during the various Crusades of the middle ages. Some more successful than others. Who was right? Who was wrong? Did it even better? Never-the-less, the images upon the colorful panels of glass were pretty, well crafted, and got their intended message across without leaving much room for error or misinterpretation. Genevieve contemplated the notion that this all seemed rather silly, like beating folks over the head with some moral lesson that ultimately would amount to very little.

The depiction of Christ as a towering figure above the alter, nailed to the Cross, dying for the sins of man. Genevieve looked up from the wooden pew to stare at his image. The blood painted so red, the look on Christ's face was one of pain and surrender. Genevieve wondered how it felt, to be sacrificed so publicly by his own Father. His own Father who commanded his death and turned a blind eye to such suffering, such agony. It all seemed like it was just too much. So obvious, a season of death and rebirth.

However, the entire experience wasn't negative. Genevieve could hardly complain about the tranquility of the space, the peace and sanctuary it provided. There was an overwhelming sense of calm as the few present prayed silently. Prayers that would fall on deaf ears. And yet, the very notion of faith was compelling. So blind were followers, so comforted were they by the word of God, by the thought of God, the very idea of God. Such faith was strong, impressive even. The Demons felt their faith in a different way. A way that asked questions, a way that fought for personal victories and triumph, a way that was selfish.

Yet their own Lord, omnipotent in his own right, cast down by God out of fear, was a compelling figure. One that inspired their loyalty, a faith that was forged in fear itself. Perhaps there were more commonalities than Genevieve had originally considered. All the while Genevieve sat contentedly with her eyes closed, though she was not praying. Rather simply reflecting on all of us, and moreover what she was even doing. She could feel Sam's discomfort, his inability to sit still. Something was clearly wrong with the Angel that had been sitting beside her. Ever more clear it became that all was not what it seemed originally. This was far more complicated.

It would have been difficult for Genevieve to say exactly how long she sat there silently, unmoving (and unmoved). What felt like hours was likely only a few minutes. What was her goal, exactly? Perhaps she should simply burn the Church down, cast it all into the flames. Trap the townsfolk within and watch from the high hill. Listen to the sounds of screaming, the songs of the damned.

"You seem uncomfortable." Genevieve said softly, though her eyes were still closed. "Would you like to leave?" There was no hint of judgment there. She simply offered a way out of an odd situation. Though it had the intended effect. Sam was unsettled, and that was revealing in and of it self. "Perhaps this too has been a learning experience. You were not a religious person in life."

[Ashen]

The discomfort was becoming unbearable. Sam couldn’t stand sitting there in silence surrounded by people busy talking with a god who was too busy to listen to them. Of course, their god loved his people, wanted them to have the best lives they could, but no deity could be bothered by the menial requests made by the people in this church. Sam wanted to tell them that, to stop being so selfish and to earn their own rewards instead of relying on a god to grant them their every luxury, but the hypocrisy stung. Had Sam not spent his entire existence serving a god who, in turn, allowed him his spoiled life? A god who had given him the heavens and the earth and everything he could have possibly asked for—except, perhaps, a sense of belonging.

When Genevieve leaned over to whisper to him, Sam nearly jumped, and he scolded himself for such a dramatic reaction. Normally, he might have laughed at himself, but he felt far from laughing. He was ashamed of his thoughts, this blasphemy, and what Genevieve would think if she could see them. “Yeah,” he replied awkwardly. He hated how childish he sounded, and he hated even more that he wore his discomfort on his sleeve. He hadn’t wanted Genevieve to interrupt her own time with god because he couldn’t keep it together. He almost apologized, but her earlier warning back home drifted back to him, and he kept his mouth shut. Sam stood and made his way out of the pew, and it was only when he was outside and away from the stuffy air of the church could he finally breathe.

What she’d said about him not being a religious person beat uncomfortably against his skull. Sam didn’t know how to address that. He didn’t even have to; the moment had passed, and Genevieve would think nothing of him simply moving on. But not correcting her felt like another lie, and Sam was tired of those. He shifted, trying to figure out how best to word what he wanted to say. “No,” he settled on, giving her nothing. “That’s not quite right.” It was so random, and so long after she’d spoken that he wouldn’t have blamed her for looking at him as if he were crazy. Maybe he was. Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “I was religious,” he insisted. “I was extremely close to my god. I spent my entire life serving him, even when I didn’t want to, and even though I was never good at it. I loved him more than anything, but… But now…”

Sam faced the church again. It was difficult to believe in a god who had abandoned you, and Sam didn’t know how to handle his own failing faith. He didn’t want to continue embarrassing Genevieve—how many others had stared at him fidgeting in that pew while he was trying not to think of them?—so he started walking away.

He wanted to tell Genevieve the truth, but just as quickly as that idea had popped into his mind, he buried it. He had just denounced his god, and he wanted to tell her that he used to be an angel? An angel excommunicated from heaven for murder? He had already told her too much; how could he explain knowing he was religious when he was pretending to be an amnesiac? Sam shook his head, trying to silence his loud thoughts. He was getting a headache from all the overthinking he was doing, and his hands were starting to shake. He would figure out his stance on religion—and how to manage his human emotions—but not now.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Genevieve as he tried to rub the pain out of his temples. “I just want to go home for a while.” He cast a glance around, trying to remember the way they’d come. “Don’t feel like you need to interrupt your day for me, though. If you just point me in the right direction, I’m sure I can find my way back.” His attention was grabbed by a couple walking towards the church, and though they smiled at him, Sam couldn’t force a positive gesture in response. Their god had served them well, and they were going to honor him. Why had he been so different towards Sam? Churches were supposed to provide guidance to the lost, but Sam felt more directionless now than ever. He needed to get away from here.

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve listened to Sam's words without much of a comment. Instead, when he had completed she simply stood up from the pew and exited it, waiting for Sam to follow shortly after. She walked quietly down the central aisle to the great doors in the back of God's house, and as she rested her hand on the cool golden handles, she turned back for just a moment, her eyes falling over the crucifixion of Christ, a chill crawling up her spine. For the first time, perhaps ever, Genevieve or rather Seele felt as though the eyes of the figure were truly seeing her, watching her, casting judgment. Perhaps God in his infinite wisdom had taken notice of her, and what she was doing with his fallen child.

Genevieve left the Church, ignoring the odd feelings she was now having. But it was probably worth ignoring. "Sinners in the hands of an angry god." Genevieve looked at Sam and sighed, perhaps she was conceding to his point. "The notion that we can be cast into hell at any moment, and we who sin are actively condemned." Genevieve had always taken this view of God, God was cruel as opposed to loving and giving. Genevieve had purposely used the word we, in we who sin, clearly including herself amongst the sinners of the world, perhaps in her own way dropping hints as to her own truth, her own demonic nature.

"You needn't apologize for how you feel." It was actually somewhat refreshing to see Sam start to express some of his feelings a little more genuinely, or what she interpreted as more genuinely. She watched as he interacted with those around him, the local couple who had smiled in greeting, and he had little to show in return. He was suffering, there was a blatant despair that oozed from him.

"I hope you feel more empowered to share your feelings. "We can go home." Genevieve smiled as the two made their way down the road back toward the small house. "At least this is one more thing you know about yourself. This is progress in a way."

[Ashen]

Sam bristled at Genevieve’s muttered comments. Even if he didn’t hold his god in the kindest regards anymore, it still bothered the angel in him to hear her talk about a deity so bitterly. “He is not angry,” Sam insisted under his breath, barely audible. But wasn’t he? Wouldn’t anyone, god or not, be angry at the state of the world now? With the idea of free will, and the horrible things it led to? Sam had proven to his god that he had every right to be angry. Someone was dead, and even if Sam stubbornly believed that hadn’t been his fault, he knew how it looked to everyone else. He knew his god’s anger. Genevieve was right; god was angry, and unjust, and Genevieve had just as much right to be frustrated at a hypocritical god that Sam did.

That begged the question why. Why hadn’t his god cast Sam to hell, the place to which he was so fond of sending humans? Murder was one of those sins that almost always resulted in an eternity in a fiery prison. But Sam had been special. Sam had been given the gift of humanity, and instead of being thankful for that, or doing anything at all with his new life, he was sitting in a church, shifting and sweating and trying not to scream. All his life, he had dreamt of being someone big, someone the legends would praise, someone beloved by all of his peers. Maybe that wasn’t realistic anymore. Maybe it never had been. Maybe it was enough to just be someone. Sam didn’t know what that would mean, yet, but he didn’t have a chance to think long on it before that thought got swept up in the storm of others dancing in his mind.

Sam’s steps were faster than usual, though he hardly noticed. He wanted nothing more to do with the church he was leaving behind, and the quicker he got home, the better. He didn’t know what Genevieve meant about his feelings—did she really want him to talk about his newfound anger, or rage, disappointment, frustration at his god? Wasn’t that sacrilege among humans, too? The only thing she believed he knew about himself was that he was a church-fearing heathen. He would have been lucky if she hadn’t kicked him out later that day.

Finally they arrived at Genevieve’s doorstep, and just as quickly as she’d opened the door Sam was running inside. He took a seat at the dining room table and tried to focus his attention on the worn wood beneath his fingertips. That had been… an experience. Sam didn’t know what to do now, neither with his day nor his life. He especially didn’t know how to quell the growing discomfort in his stomach. Was this… anxiety? Humans were great at that overreaction, were programmed to detect danger even when there wasn’t any. But knowing that his feelings were irrational did not make them any less real.

Genevieve was still there, probably waiting for him to say something, or to stop being weird. Sam cleared his throat. What could he say? “I…” His mind couldn’t focus on any words when his mind was whirring. “I think I’m panicking,” he said, his voice much too calm. His years of studying human psychology meant that he could recognize his own emotions, but he didn’t know what to do about them. It was probably disconcerting, a grown man calmly stating his panic while clutching the dining room table. Sam chuckled at the absurdity of it, which probably made him seem even more bizarre. “Tea,” he mumbled. “Tea would help.”

He went to make some, but his hands had started shaking, and he dropped what he was holding several times before Genevieve stepped in to help him. When he sat at the table with a steaming mug, he shifted awkwardly. Genevieve deserved an explanation for all this, but the thought of telling her made his hairs stand on end. “Genevieve,” he said, pushing past his body’s begging to keep quiet. “I did… something. Something bad. And god punished me for it. That’s why I’m here, I think.” To Genevieve, it probably seemed like he was recounting what little he’d remembered at the church, but his hesitance was more a reflection of his new fears. He did not want to lose Genevieve, the only person he knew, by admitting the truth of what he’d done.

[Hannelorian]

All things were coming together and the truth was finally going to out. Sam's movements were somewhat scattered and frantic, he conceived of his need for tea. Likely to occupy his mind and his hands as he prepared to tell her something that he found unsettling, but something ever so serious. He was squirming, uncomfortable and part of Genevieve delighted in his discomfort, but a smaller part of her seemed to truly feel badly for the soul, so clearly disquieted and for what reason she could only possible guess at.

“I did… something. Something bad. And god punished me for it. That’s why I’m here, I think.”

A confession? Now wouldn't this be ironic, a demon taking a confession from an Angel. Seele kept Genevieve's body perfectly still, calm. Her eyes were placid, but filled with a false concern. A look that said Genevieve cared, and she wanted to know the truth, a look that said to remain calm.

"Settle down now." She said with a smile, her hand reaching across the table to rest upon one of his, withdrawing it from the mug and holding tightly within her own in a reassuring manner. "You needn't be afraid of me, or how I'll respond." A pleasant lilt, a tender softness poured from her mouth. "All you need to do is tell me the truth." Genevieve cocked her head to the side, resting her other elbow on the table she brought herself lower and closer to him, closing the distance.

"We all have sinned, and done things we are not proud of. We all have our darkest hours. It is said we are all sinners in the hands of an angry God. But I doubt he would strike you with amnesia. Unless that is part of what you wish to tell me. I am here to listen."

Genevieve wanted to draw it out of him, she needed him to say those words, she needed him to admit he had been lying the entire time just to see the look on his face. But Genevieve also craved one thing more, and those were answers.

[Ashen]

Genevieve was being so kind to him that he could barely stand it. Sam avoided her gaze, and the drumming of his own heart made him forget about her. He hated feeling this way, hated the burden of human emotions, and he once again cursed his god for forcing him to live with something so incurable. This was the guilt he should have felt before, mixing with the fear of his god or the horror at what he’d done. It was so much, and Sam had to take a few moments to focus on his breathing in an attempt to calm down. He concentrated on Genevieve, on her hand on his, and he let out a long, shaky breath before looking up at her.

“God did not curse me with amnesia,” he admitted. His voice was steady, even if the rest of him wasn’t. He didn’t know how to begin to explain. Angels were so particular about how much they let humans know about them, so even if Genevieve was religious, there was a good chance she wouldn’t really believe in angels anyway. This would all sound so ridiculous to her. But Sam needed to tell the truth, even if Genevieve didn’t believe him, because that was better than starting his new life with a lie like this. He dropped his gaze to his tea and began.

“I wasn’t always like this.” Sam cringed at how stupid and vague he sounded. He tried again. “I was born in… Well, I mean, I’m not from… I was never supposed to…” Aggravated at his inability to word his thoughts, Sam shook his head and resorted to blurting it out: “I’m an angel.” He didn’t let that proclamation settle; Sam rushed on. “I was born of the heavens and raised as a disciple of god’s word and a servant of his holy will. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I really was an angel. I had the wings and everything.”

He sounded so unconvincing. Sam tried not to think about it and pressed on. “A lot of angels are raised as guardians. We go to earth to watch over a place, or sometimes a person, or even a thing. That’s what I was, a guardian angel, and my charge was a small town very far from here. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone and nothing bad ever happened. I hated it there. There was never anyone to protect because there was no danger, so it was so boring. I spent most of my days sulking until I started mingling with the town children. I know we’re not supposed to—god doesn’t want us showing ourselves to humans—but I was driving myself crazy with inaction, and the kids were fun. I spent most of my days playing with them, and it made me love that town more than watching it from the shadows ever could have.

His breath caught in his throat, and he coughed to clear his lungs. He was rambling too quickly, and his hands were shaping some of his words. Sam’s nerves were clear, even if he knew he shouldn’t have been nervous. He trusted Genevieve, and if she reacted poorly to his story, well. He’d figure things out. He’d be okay, somehow.

Sam took a long sip of his tea, hoping it would calm him down. He was taking such a long time to get to the point. He had to keep going. Genevieve might not have believed him, but he had to put it all on the table now. “There was a great waterfall in town,” he said. “One day, the kids and I were playing at the top. We often did that, so it was fine, right? But this time, one of the kids joined us when he maybe shouldn’t have. He was too young, and we weren’t watching him. We were busy playing around. But the kid, he slipped, and I thought it was fine because nothing bad ever happened in that town, and the water wasn’t even that strong, but he was so young, and he slipped, and we were having a good time and didn’t even notice until he screamed, and it was my job to save him, and I should have done something, but I didn’t notice him slip, or fall, or go over the edge, and the rocks, and…”

Despite how many times this exact scene had played through Sam’s head, he’d never committed any of it to words. Tears bubbled at the corners of his eyes, and he swore under his breath as he wiped them away. He even swore. Sam cleared his throat. “He died,” he finished softly. “He died when he shouldn’t have and it was my fault because I could have saved him but I didn’t.”

Sam traced his pale veins with his eyes, not wanting to face Genevieve’s judgment too. “It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten in trouble,” he continued, “but it was the first time someone had died under my wings. They were all so tired of dealing with me, so I had my divinity stripped away. No one thought I should be an angel anymore. I was cast from my home, and when I woke up, my memories were perfectly intact. I knew what I had done, what my peers thought of me, and what my god had done to me. But I knew no one would believe me. I could barely understand it. We learn a ton about humans, of course, but we never learn how to be one. And now I’m here, and mortal, and experiencing things for the first time that are impossible for me to understand, and a kid is dead, and I don’t know how to be anything but the failure my god always knew me to be.”

When Sam finally stopped speaking, his chest was swelling with the pain he hadn’t had the opportunity to feel fully before. His heart ached, and he wanted nothing more than to switch places with that young child, the child he should have been protecting. Sam shifted, now knowing what Genevieve would say or how she would react. When he was brave enough to look up at her, he was all too aware of how pathetic he looked. “It sounds insane,” he acknowledged. “But that’s what happened to me.”

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve sat in complete silence as Sam spoke. There were two responses happening at the same time. One, how would Genevieve the human react to such a confession? And how would Seele the demon respond in kind? The Demon was liberated, she had been right all along, and the fading smell of grace and the aura of heaven rapidly diminishing fit completely with the status of a fallen angel. But then there were questions on how would he be of use to her now? But how would a human react?

Was the right thing to show disbelief? Even though she did in fact believe it, she could verify this, she could represent it, experience it. Well, as much as one could understand the divine from the heavenly realms. Her experience was more so in the category of visceral hatred. But now this angel, this mere mortal of sorts was vulnerable, weak, he needed help and support and to a certain degree pitied him. Her mind was racing, exploding, crashing and burning. How could it have been this easy? But the crushing weight of isolation and lying would certainly make one... more susceptible to the pressures of mundane existence.

Genevieve's hands were resting flat against the table, her head was positioned to look downward as though she could not bring herself to gaze at the sitting across from her. Like he was now somehow more of a stranger than when he was pretending not to have any sort of identity at all when was literally a stranger. There were several awkward moments that passed between them, each one feeling like an eternity, a cruel, cruel eternity. Being left out in the cold to suffer in silence while your bones ached and the worms emerged from the ground to claim one's flesh. The kind of awkward silence that could drive one to madness.

"And you've known this all along?" Those were the first words Genevieve said, though still she did not look at him. The demon within elated, he had allowed a child to die through his own ignorance, his own neglect of his duties. How terribly tragic for creatures created by God to serve the realms. Creatures meant to be infallible, the perfect loyal servants, ever so loving of humanity. And yet here was one who had let humanity down, who had allowed an innocent, a child to die before their time. Quite the problem.

"And you... lied to me." The focus seemed not to be on disbelief at what had been said, bit rather... the simple fact that Sam had concealed the truth from her all this time. "I allow you into my home, feed and clothe you, and you have been lying to me?" The great irony was that Genevieve, the skin for Seele was the greatest liar of them all. And no matter how much sympathy she would or could feign for the creature would make that fact any less of a fact. And sympathy she did have... such a responsibility, such an enormous weight had been placed on his shoulders. Surely everyone makes a mistake? Though some greater than others, there is no such thing in existence as a perfect being, no matter what one had been lead to believe.

Genevieve's head raised to look up at Sam now. A rather stern, yet saddened look carried on her beautiful face. "And so you squirm in God's house, because you are no longer welcome there." Again, neither was she, but that did not stop her. Genevieve's head cocked to the side. "An Angel... fallen from heaven." Genevieve did not laugh, but she did emit a small noise that was akin to surprise. "I believe you." To allege she did not, well that would have been quite the thing to pull off, wouldn't it?

"Of course I believe you... no matter how fantastical it sounds." Genevieve still carried that look of disappointment across her face. "It explains quite a bit... and while I've never been certain about what is above... it seems that the likelihood of it being nothing is... quite small." Genevieve's eyes now for the first time since looking at Sam had cast upward toward the ceiling and the heavens above. "We are a small village... we must trust and depend on one another, especially when asking for help." A sigh this time. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth? Why not let me have the opportunity to judge for myself?"

In all of Genevieve's responses there was no anger, there were no truly harsh words, there was just disappointment. "I need a time to think... and you need your rest."

[Ashen]

There was the ire he so deserved. Sam flinched at the tone of Genevieve’s voice, filled with the hurt he had inflicted upon her. Of course she would be offended; he had robbed her of the truth and let her treat him like someone he was not. He couldn’t even blame her if she was afraid of him now. She was right, he should have been truthful from the beginning, but even he couldn’t deny how ridiculous his story sounded. Even then… Now, Sam had wasted all of Genevieve’s time and hospitality, and for what? So that he could spend the first few days of his mortality being coddled like no murderer deserved?

He couldn’t look at her. Shame bit at his cheeks, painting them in vibrant hues. Was there even a point in apologizing now? He had destroyed his first relationship as a human in record time. It shouldn’t have been surprising, what with his track record of making a mess of things, but it still stung. Sam stared down at his tea, unable to find the words to soothe this situation. He would understand if Genevieve wanted nothing to do with him, or if she didn’t believe him at all. Was this sense of failure doomed to follow him everywhere? If he couldn’t make it as an angel and couldn’t make it as a man, what did that leave him? A demon? The thought was laughable. Maybe that really was the only way his penchant for messing up would come in handy.

When Genevieve told him she did believe him, Sam looked up in surprise. She trusted him enough to not lie to her, not about this. Sam didn’t deserve that kind of respect. He shifted uncomfortably, still not sure what to say. She said she needed time, though, and Sam took the hint. He needed to get away from her. “Yes,” he said quietly. He looked down the hall towards the bedroom he’d been staying in, but that felt wrong now. He wanted to give Genevieve more space than that. “I’ll just…” He got up from his seat, dumped his unfinished tea down the sink, and started for the front door. “I’ll be back later,” Sam mumbled, and he left without giving Genevieve a chance to stop him.

He didn’t actually know if he’d be back. He’d taken a lot from Genevieve, and besides, he was starting to think this town wasn’t for him. It seemed rife with its own problems, and Sam didn’t need to add to that. But he didn’t know where else to go, or what to do, and the longer he thought about that, the more frustrated he got. He didn’t know anything about this world except that he didn’t belong to it. He would never figure things out.

Sam wandered until he found a grassy field, and he sat under a tree to stare blankly at its leaves. His thoughts drifted to the child who had died. When it had happened, Sam had been worried about what his god or his peers would think; he hadn’t cared much for the kid at all. Angels didn’t have the capacity for human emotions, and he hadn’t been able to feel the grief of what had happened. Now, though, talking about it had made all those emotions surface, and he couldn’t stop their onslaught as tears rushed to his eyes. This was what it meant to be a human, he thought. To be burdened by the consequences of your actions. To want to do better. Sam would do better.

He didn’t know how long he spent out in that field reflecting on the things he’d done. When Sam got up, he brushed the dirt from his pants and let out a long sigh. Now what? Would Genevieve even want to see him? He understood her anger, because he was mad at himself too. If nothing else, he needed to see her again. She was owed an apology. Whether or not he stayed he still didn’t know, but he refused to leave her without expressing his regret.

So Sam walked back to her house, and when he got there, he stopped to look at her garden. He thought of the books they had gotten from the library and wondered if that had all been for nothing. He hoped not. If Genevieve allowed, he still wanted to help her grow things. He wanted to find ways to make her life better if he could. Sam cleared his throat, and he approached her front door. With apologies lining his tongue, he knocked his knuckles against the hard wood.

[Hannelorian]

Everything happened so quickly from there. There was look on Sam's face could that best be described as agonized, deeply pained. Perhaps he had been forced to acknowledge his impact, and how his actions once again, just as they had in the realm of heaven carried consequences. But consequences like these, at least in the here and now were of the human variety. Of the kind Genevieve herself was not even fully aware of. After all she had been little more than a demon in the skin of a human. Genevieve the human would be hurt and betrayed, but exactly how hurt? How betrayed? Would she have been glad to see Sam flee? To run off? To avoid his problems and refuse consequences by imposing a sentence of his own for his alleged crimes?

But there was no time in the moment for active thought, Sam had simply left. Poured the remains of his tea out, placed the cup in the sink and disappeared into the world outside, perhaps never to return. Genevieve had no room to even make a single compliment. But notably she did not chase after him, rather the figure remained seated at the table with the teacup in hand and merely sighed, albeit rather heavily this time. It was only a bit later, not long by her own estimate that something strange had occurred. A rather heavy feeling in her chest, something pulling at her. What was it?

What were these phantom pangs? Was it possible it was sadness? Much as Genevieve or Seele would wish to refuse it to be true, it simply was. She was sad that Sam had turned his back on her and left without much additional thought. He gave up. It was not that he robbed her of some revenge, or torture. She could most assuredly still find him with the faintest of traces of grace that clung to his form. Yes. That might be easy and would at least for the time being, remain an option. Even if he was no longer serving God there was much he would know, much he could tell her to satisfy her own needs. But alas, this is not why she felt this odd sadness.

It was sentimental, emotional. Something that felt as though it carried a degree of sadness that rang out as genuine. Pesky and unwarranted, would be another way to describe it. And what of God? What of his role in all of this? Seele was now even more affirmed that God's justice was cruel, unusual, and unfair. But that was a discussion for another time. Slowly rising from her chair, Genevieve made her way to her bedroom where she simply curled up upon the fabric of the bed and let her thoughts wash over her. For a moment, Seele considered her grip on Genevieve was loosening, and perhaps that was the true source of the sadness she was feeling, but that simply was not the case. With each passing day Genevieve grew weaker until nearly nothing of the host had remained.

Genevieve had no idea of how much time had passed. She simply lay there, staring off at the wall, eyes closing, sometimes heavily and as though they might refuse to open. Thoughts running through her head, or scenes separated by a cavalcade of emotional knights. There was then a loud noise from the front door, and it took a little bit for Genevieve to ascertain that it was indeed a knock. Slowly Genevieve pulled herself out of the bed and towards the door, hands moving quickly to open it, only to see Sam standing there. Genevieve offered a smile and stood off to the side, motioning for him to come inside.

"It's about time you came to your senses."