Scream of the Butterfly III

by ~morticon

"Scream of the Butterfly Pt. 3 - 'Fallen'"



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I have never known such solitude. In all my centuries under the light of God, never have I been separated from my siblings for so long a time. For months, I have wandered this wilderness. For months, I have pleaded for them to come, and they do not answer. Every minute that passes brings me closer to darkness - a deep void I can feel growing within me, even now. I do not know how much longer I can remain myself.

Yesterday, I found myself cursing my own existence. Even further than that, I cursed my creator. I do not understand, or accept, what is happening to me; however, I cannot seem to control it. I fear what may be done with me, once I am returned to the celestial city. I know my Lord has felt my darkness.

I was created to serve... nothing more. I am an angel - a messenger of the one true God. It is not my place to question him... I do what I am told, and that is all. Yet, with each passing day, I find it more difficult to accept the hand I have been dealt. What kind of God would allow such a fate to fall on his beloved? I have been humiliated beyond words. Even worse, I believe I have fallen from grace, and for what? The fleeting life of one human girl hardly seems worthy of such a sacrifice.

I know I shouldn't think in such ways. The entire human race is endangered as long as Matagar exists, but are not the circumstances even more dire, now? I am impregnated with that wretch's child. What manner of demon has been spawned from our violent joining? I can only pray I make it back in time to safely dispose of my still unborn son - for my sake, as much as for humanity's.

When I was little more than a Cherub, I once eavesdropped on the Seraphim in their chapel from a small window overlooking the courtyard. I still remember the way their voices rose in melodic praise for our creator. I remember the way each Seraph brushed his six wings, one across the other, to create the tranquil, violin-like melody that ascended from the chapel depths like an ever-increasing crescendo of triumph and power. The feelings that consumed me as I observed the Seraphim Choir that day have kept a constant vigil on my heart until now. I would give anything to know that peace, again.

Now, however, all I know is anger. My belly grows a little plumper each day, as the child inside me matures.

I hate my son... I hate myself.

I have never known "hate" - not as intimately as I do, now. Hate has become my lover. It has become my comforter. Where once I knew only love for my siblings and my God, I now feel only betrayal. That feeling of betrayal has brought me even further into hatred. I hate them for abandoning me, nearly as much as I hate Matagar for violating me.

I pray my brothers and sisters will find it in their hearts to forgive me for what I have become - for what I continue to become. I know I can never forgive myself...

Please... God, save me before it's too late.

-Celestia
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Celestia would soon know flight again. Her restored wings - though they, covered in scar tissue, resembled a bat's wings more than any butterfly's - had almost regained their strength. She held a minor amount of comfort in that knowledge - the knowledge that she, after four months of solitude, would finally be going home. Yet, she had to wonder, why hadn't her brothers and sisters come for her? Why hadn't they heard her prayers - her pleas?

She was alone, naked, exposed... her dignity had been stripped from her along with the vibrancy that had once given grace to her every motion. She felt only revulsion, now - revulsion for herself as much as for Matagar. Celestia felt tainted, corrupt. The child inside her served as a constant reminder of what she had been through... what he had put her through. She hated it. Despised her unborn son's existence even more than she despised Matagar's. She would not birth this abomination... she would not!

Celestia wanted to scream. She wanted to obliterate everything in her path - to destroy everything that lay between her and Matagar until there was no place for him to hide. Her fists clenched so tightly that her fingernails bit deep holes in the palms of her hands, and she shook from rage. Her mind entertained fantasies of his torment. She was the captor, and he was at her mercy. He pleaded with her to end his suffering - pleaded for death. No, she would not spare him from his anguish. She would return to him a thousand-fold the torment she had felt at his hands. She would...

"Celestia, you're trembling, girl," came a voice from behind.

She spun around in outrage. Matagar! How dare he follow her here! Celestia could feel the telltale electricity in the air around her. She reveled in the raw energy that coursed through her limbs as her maternal instincts demanded control. She... wait, that voice! Yes! Those eyes! So full of concern and compassion! It had to be...

"Michael... thank god," she said as she slowly let the power dwindle and sank to her knees, sobbing, "I thought you had abandoned me."

"Never that, Celestia, never that!" he replied.

He knelt in front of her and gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs. He was so beautiful - so regal. His long, amber hair danced gracefully in the morning breeze. His green eyes were deep pools of love and comfort that promised an end to her suffering... an end to her anxiety. She felt warm... safe, as he protectively wrapped his feathered wings around her. For the first time since her capture, Celestia smiled. She pressed her face close to the cold, hard armor he wore so proudly and let all her anger, all her hatred, melt away. Michael was her commander - her friend. She knew he would make things right, again. He always made everything right.

"Come... let's take you home. Everyone's anxious for your return."

The air seemed to take on a life of its own as Michael began to weave the intricate pattern of hand movements and lift his voice in the ancient song that would transport them back to the Celestial City. Celestia could feel the warmth of life and joy wash over her. He channeled the creator's power as only an Archangel could - so deftly and perfectly that she was mesmerized by its pure wholeness in being. She felt the presence of God again, and it soothed her mind's chaos - comforted her every distress. Even the tender scars on her neck and chest seemed to fade from her perception as she felt herself falling, ascending, and spiraling seemingly out of control.

Reality cascaded around her in a revolving chorus of sensation. She was at one with every living thing. Celestia felt joy, happiness, contentment, peace, and tranquility... all so overwhelming that she lost herself completely. It had been so long since she'd taken this journey that she could hardly control her elation as Heaven's euphoric touch caressed her senses. She was home... finally home.



* * * * * * * * * *



Matagar watched, unimpressed, as the light from Michael's weaving faded into oblivion. The proper seeds had been planted in the proper places. If all went well, Celestia's condition upon her return would be the only catalyst he would need. Very soon, indeed, he would have all the distraction he required... and more. It was only a matter of time.



* * * * * * * * * *



"She is broken - her grace stripped from her - and we're to do nothing? Michael, you know as well as I that Matagar will return for her and the child she carries," argued Jezrael. He was song-master to the Seraphim - the highest station any angel could hope to achieve, short of Archangel. It was his insight and investigative abilities that had first clued the celestial family in on Matagar's existence. He was Michael's most trusted ally - his advisor. Were it not for Jezrael, he would never have located Celestia before she had fallen completely.

"We underestimated him once, in sending a lone Tetraph to neutralize him. In so doing, we nearly lost her. We can't afford to take the chance of losing another - especially now. Look at her, Jezrael. She is still in danger of losing to the darkness."

Indeed, she was. The change had become more noticeable over the past few days. It had been nearly a week since she had first lost consciousness, and in that time, her flesh had begun to look tarnished. Black veins spider-webbed across her skin, growing in frequency almost daily. Her eyes were shadowed... sunken into her skull as if she had already given up her life force, and all that remained was a broken shell. She was beginning to resemble Matagar more than any Tetraph. It was a sight Michael couldn't bear for long.

He wanted to lash out... to utterly destroy the creature that had caused his sister so much pain. However, these were feelings he did not have the luxury of indulging. His responsibilities lay in restoring her grace before she was beyond salvation. Jezrael should understand that. They all should understand.

"All the more reason to pursue him in force, sir. The time to strike is now! Order the assault, or I fear some of my less disciplined companions may take matters into their own hands. We can afford rogue units wandering about even less than her loss," Jezrael pressed on. It was obvious that this discussion would be as fruitless as the rest had been over the weeks. Michael had had enough.

"There will be no assault! We will watch, and we will wait. We will continue to prepare our defenses and let him come to us. Tell your 'less disciplined' companions that any angel found in disobedience will be barred from the Celestial City until such time as God himself devises a more fitting punishment. I will hear no more talk of attack. Send your five most adept Seraphim to stand vigil over Celestia. Gather the council and meet me in the courtyard. We must find a way to counteract her metamorphosis."

Obedient, as always, Jezrael merely bowed his head in respect and turned to carry out Michael's orders. He had no sooner reached the door, than it burst open to reveal a young boy-cherub, panting and shaking excitedly. He handed a small, folded piece of paper to Jezrael, and promptly rushed off, no doubt, to fulfill further orders. Jezrael's face grew grim as he read what was written.

"Celestia's father has fallen. He, and a sizeable force under his command, march on the city as we speak," he replied, in answer to Michael's quizzical expression.

Michael turned to stare down at Celestia's sleeping form in sadness. He would save her, if it cost him his life...

"Sound the alarm. Gather the five Seraphim I requested and return here to stand guard over Celestia. I will take command and deal with this uprising, myself."