[broadcast mind] how many honest men you know
They say there'll be war soon. You only half-believe any of it-- the idea of a fall, of anyone's fall is laughable to you. That anyone could reject God's grace when they'd been in His presence.
That Lucifel could.
Time never works properly in Heaven, you've felt that your whole life, from the first rounds of pills at school up until now. Dates lose relevance with immortals. But you've been promised a promotion and your pulse quickens at the thought of it. It's taken decades, centuries. The culmination of all you've ever hoped for. Assurance of your skills, your powers, your purity.
[something everlasting, something...]
[something that'll make you good, really good, for that fear always comes you'll be found out]
[that dire sickness within you, that want you've struggled against your whole life]
Assurance that no matter what happens you'll remain the archangel of wind, Raphael, God heals. You'll stay, you'll endure.
But you're roused from those thoughts sometimes. You've heard gossip, lately, about the woman who works in the office next door. They say she's all but been caught before, perverting a score of angels, offering up her body to all.
[and it's a wretched body they say]
[not really a woman's at all]
It's half your good word that's kept an investigation at bay. You think she knows it from the way she looks at you sometimes when picking up papers or taking a smoke break, the way those blue eyes, lined too thickly with kohl, glint and narrow. You barely speak to her, less so since the rumors begun, but she smirks at you, laughs at you. It's frightening.
[and maybe there's a sudden flash of garters and lace, barely a blink's worth]
[out of sequence, out of order]
[her wretched body, mauled by choice and it's all true, there are no breasts, no hips, nothing you've been taught all your life through pills and sermons and prayers makes a woman]
[nothing at all]
The paperwork's still on your desk.
That Lucifel could.
Time never works properly in Heaven, you've felt that your whole life, from the first rounds of pills at school up until now. Dates lose relevance with immortals. But you've been promised a promotion and your pulse quickens at the thought of it. It's taken decades, centuries. The culmination of all you've ever hoped for. Assurance of your skills, your powers, your purity.
[something everlasting, something...]
[something that'll make you good, really good, for that fear always comes you'll be found out]
[that dire sickness within you, that want you've struggled against your whole life]
Assurance that no matter what happens you'll remain the archangel of wind, Raphael, God heals. You'll stay, you'll endure.
But you're roused from those thoughts sometimes. You've heard gossip, lately, about the woman who works in the office next door. They say she's all but been caught before, perverting a score of angels, offering up her body to all.
[and it's a wretched body they say]
[not really a woman's at all]
It's half your good word that's kept an investigation at bay. You think she knows it from the way she looks at you sometimes when picking up papers or taking a smoke break, the way those blue eyes, lined too thickly with kohl, glint and narrow. You barely speak to her, less so since the rumors begun, but she smirks at you, laughs at you. It's frightening.
[and maybe there's a sudden flash of garters and lace, barely a blink's worth]
[out of sequence, out of order]
[her wretched body, mauled by choice and it's all true, there are no breasts, no hips, nothing you've been taught all your life through pills and sermons and prayers makes a woman]
[nothing at all]
The paperwork's still on your desk.