accidental video -> text; sunday morning
[The video clicks on softly, with little static or feedback normally associated with angels. It's broadcasting from a rooftop, pointing off-kilter slightly to take in the panorama of Adstringéndum's horizon in the early light of dawn. The sky is striped and bright, the sun only just peeking over the distant horizon to paint the city and Wastes with vivid pinks and oranges that chase away the dusty blues of night. In this beauty sits Raphael, turned so far from the PCD that only a sliver of her face is visible over her shoulder.
Raphael is, rarely, sitting on an actual chair, leaning heavily on one elbow braced against her knee, the picture of peace. Not that she's usually a party animal, but there's something different about her, something more poised than arrogant, for once. There hasn't been room for arrogance these past several days; for the first time in her life she has absolutely nothing to be confident in, no future or present certainty to inflate her pride.
The result is a look that's almost a little deflated, if a person knows her very well. Most don't. She prefers it that way. It will be easier.
There's a kind of easy insecurity and nervous assurance in knowing that she's going to die. The curse now eating away at her for six days has only worsened, her dread simply crystallized when Severus Snape told her what that curse does and what it's doing to her. Everything else has fallen away: old grudges, past motivations, future plans are all meaningless with this encroachment of her apparent mortality. Raphael has died once before, in her home world, but there she had less than a minute to realize she was well and truly done for. She has been alone with her thoughts for over three days. Raphael also knows how impermanent death can be in this place, but she has seen people die here and never return. She has no home or life to go to; once Tom Riddle's curse takes the last of her life, she will be utterly gone unless the Animus see fit to restore her.
She hasn't even told anybody. If you asked her, Raphael could not tell you why.
The angel sits there, skin lit up in pinks and white shirt soaked in vivid orange, and watches the sunrise for a long time. At one point she breaks the silence with something that literally nobody has ever seen the archangel do- she coughs slightly. Only someone paying very close attention would notice the tiniest, briefest glow of dim white light on her hand as she coughed on it. That unnoticeable blink of light is Grace, bleeding out in a slow trickle since the week's start, foreshadowing the inevitable supernova that will announce her end. After at least five minutes, she turns her head very slightly (not enough to see her face properly- good, because it's pale, wan, eaten around the edges by parasitic rot with dark circles under her eyes) and seems to notice the camera. With a snap of her fingers the video shuts off. Then she decides to post something purposeful; her mind is roiling and lost, too many unfamiliar and intimidating thoughts filling that vast consciousness.]
[Filtered from Tom Riddle and Morgana]
What would you think of the chance live forever?
There are those who would seize such an opportunity.
There are those who would refuse. Why? [She hesitates in typing the next part, reluctant to let slip any notion of uncertainty, but her need for answers compels her. For once, archangels are not the wise ones here. These ridiculous, limited, idiotic humans earned their mortality and their Knowledge of good and evil, she may as well hear what it has to say.] How many years of life is enough?
Raphael is, rarely, sitting on an actual chair, leaning heavily on one elbow braced against her knee, the picture of peace. Not that she's usually a party animal, but there's something different about her, something more poised than arrogant, for once. There hasn't been room for arrogance these past several days; for the first time in her life she has absolutely nothing to be confident in, no future or present certainty to inflate her pride.
The result is a look that's almost a little deflated, if a person knows her very well. Most don't. She prefers it that way. It will be easier.
There's a kind of easy insecurity and nervous assurance in knowing that she's going to die. The curse now eating away at her for six days has only worsened, her dread simply crystallized when Severus Snape told her what that curse does and what it's doing to her. Everything else has fallen away: old grudges, past motivations, future plans are all meaningless with this encroachment of her apparent mortality. Raphael has died once before, in her home world, but there she had less than a minute to realize she was well and truly done for. She has been alone with her thoughts for over three days. Raphael also knows how impermanent death can be in this place, but she has seen people die here and never return. She has no home or life to go to; once Tom Riddle's curse takes the last of her life, she will be utterly gone unless the Animus see fit to restore her.
She hasn't even told anybody. If you asked her, Raphael could not tell you why.
The angel sits there, skin lit up in pinks and white shirt soaked in vivid orange, and watches the sunrise for a long time. At one point she breaks the silence with something that literally nobody has ever seen the archangel do- she coughs slightly. Only someone paying very close attention would notice the tiniest, briefest glow of dim white light on her hand as she coughed on it. That unnoticeable blink of light is Grace, bleeding out in a slow trickle since the week's start, foreshadowing the inevitable supernova that will announce her end. After at least five minutes, she turns her head very slightly (not enough to see her face properly- good, because it's pale, wan, eaten around the edges by parasitic rot with dark circles under her eyes) and seems to notice the camera. With a snap of her fingers the video shuts off. Then she decides to post something purposeful; her mind is roiling and lost, too many unfamiliar and intimidating thoughts filling that vast consciousness.]
[Filtered from Tom Riddle and Morgana]
What would you think of the chance live forever?
There are those who would seize such an opportunity.
There are those who would refuse. Why? [She hesitates in typing the next part, reluctant to let slip any notion of uncertainty, but her need for answers compels her. For once, archangels are not the wise ones here. These ridiculous, limited, idiotic humans earned their mortality and their Knowledge of good and evil, she may as well hear what it has to say.] How many years of life is enough?