Chrystos Voskrese!

[border_princess]

It is finally Easter and Helen's weeks of preparations have paid off. The kitchen is filled with food for anyone who wants it and Helen is walking around the mansion delivering eggs. Everyone she meets is greeted with a happy "Chrystos Voskrese!" It means "Christ is risen!" in Ukrainian and she isn't expecting anyone to know to say "Voistinnu

Comments

[three_smiles]

"Naverno voskrese, gospodah," says Michael. His arms are quite full of something wrapt up in his leather apron, and he looks at her with a quiet gladness in the familiarity of her actions.

[three_smiles]

"Then it will be well again, I believe." He kisses her forehead. "Do you miss them?" He uses the word a little unsurely.

[border_princess]

"I only knew two of them." She sounds a little uncertain. "But yes. Yes, I do miss them a little."

[three_smiles]

"It will be well." More stroking of hair.

[border_princess]

She holds on a little bit longer, then pulls back. "How is your Easter going?"

[three_smiles]

"It is very well. I am glad of God's grace. I am blessed."

[border_princess]

"You said you would sing..." She says it with a hint of a smile.

[three_smiles]

"Should I sing now?"

[border_princess]

"Whenever you want to."

[three_smiles]

"I will sing for you." He takes his apron back from her and puts it on, tying it deftly, and in that movement suddenly seems so like any other working peasant, not at all like an Angel; but then it passes.

[border_princess]

"Whenever you are ready."

[three_smiles]

"Now?"

Typist: I can, in fact, answer comments regularly. *facepalm* I'm sorry.

[border_princess]

"If you want to. I don't want to make you feel like you have to."

[three_smiles]

"I am ready now."

[border_princess]

She steps back a little and waits politely.

[three_smiles]

Michael begins very softly to sing, at first, but as the song continues his voice becomes louder; it is a song without words but despite that clearly a hymn of praise, something inexpressible with words, and that must be the reason there aren't any. It is golden, it is silver, it is all the colours and tones of a sunset, of an ocean on the brightest day, of, most importantly, Heaven, a wonder of skies above skies, harmonies, peace, the grace of God, the glory of God, the love which Michael has for God and for every living creature, Angels and Demons, Man and Animals. It is matchless; it must be, for it is a thing of Heaven and not of Earth.