Lacrimosa

[Kaeli]

"Prologue"


In a remote corner of Myrken wood, the air is pierced by the shrieks of all the choirs of the heavens. In the empty silence that follows, a slow pool of crimson saturates the forest floor. Lying sprawled prone on her back, the angel called Kaeli is dying. Her wings have been removed, daggers reaching deep within to dig out even the bones that once held them. She lies there, naked save the long locks of black hair spread around her, blending with the widening pool of blood, and heavy footsteps, satisfied that the deed is done, turn and walk away.

That was a month ago. By happenstance a small group of gypsies foraging for food and magical supplies had happened upon her lifeless body and carried her back to camp. They'd said she'd lost a lot of blood, that they had to stitch her up and perform rituals over her unconscious body nightly until she finally regained consciousness. The ordeal had been so traumatic that the memories before her awakening are, at best, a blur.

The doves came after that. The camp was overrun with them, suddenly... bloodthirsty, ravenous doves tearing at each other's throats with their tiny beaks and falling, bloodied, from the sky with broken necks and severed wings. They regarded it as a terrible omen, and at once set about a plot to put her to death. The death which they had delivered her from not two days prior. The debate goes on for hours, Kaeli listening from the caravan where they kept her, crying tears of mercury until her face glistens with silver.

Finally, the verdict comes. She was to live, but banished, never to see any of them again. They release her to the wilderness and she wanders down the only obvious path. Still in the grey robes they made for her and completely unarmed, she finds herself in front of a tavern...

[Kaeli]

Fiery red locks cascade around his face as his body strikes the ground. Pausing only for a brief moment, he rhythmically straightens his thin angular body and folds his wings behind him. Armaros' eyes, glints of fire in them, sweep through the forest before him. She's here, he thinks. She's alive. She's alive after all. And I will have her again.

Armaros reaches to his neck and grasps the pendant there, ripping it from his neck in fury, the chain snapping at the clasp. Eyes burning with the torment of ten suns, his head arcs back, reaching toward the sky, arms wide, palms upturned, the pendant's chain dangling between his fingers, the angel opens his lips, and sings.

Kyrie Eleison!

His wings open wide. The dust beneath his feet scatters with the gale-like force as they come cown, lifting him from his feet. He rises majestically, a star trailing fire, and his voice fills the wood.

But it is only heard by a single pair of ears.

[Kaeli]

Kaeli lays her head on a pillow for the first time in weeks. Varian, the gambler with whom she'd been talking, had paid for her room, though he likely couldn't afford it. He insisted, despite her pleas. She breathes out a heavy sigh and reflects on the events that had just transpired. She had met her pursuer face to face.

Armaros had entered the bar... she'd heard him coming, in her mind. She'd heard his Kyrie, the one that so often called her entranced into the woods. Ducking behind the table, she'd cowered, listened to the exchange of words above her. Indeed, he was looking for her. She'd watched Azakael's legs approach as he asked the angel to leave. She wanted to warn him. No one needed to fight for her. A trembling hand reached for his robes, and Armaros' eyes flashed with fire as they spotted the thin fingers reaching out.

Suddenly the table was gone, toppling onto the floor, and the angel was before her, striding toward her. Azakael gripped his scythe tightly, preparing to swing its deadly arc. Varian's hand found the boomerang adorning his back as the angel stepped nearer to them, nearer to her. She saw the flame in his eyes, tried to scream, but no sound passed her mouth.

"Who is this? This is no angel. I seek an angel." Armaros was suddenly puzzled. Kaeli had to stop herself from touching the familiar scars on her back. The wings were gone, and he didn't recognize her. With a smirk and a half-hearted apology, the angel announced that should anyone see the angel girl, to send her to a previous acquaintance. A strange one, apparently interested in piercing and self-mutilation. Scaramouch, the one she'd met a week prior. He had a gift for her, apparently. With that, was gone as suddenly as he had come. A sigh of relief escaped from her lungs, but her subconscious knew that he would continue to sing the Kyrie, the call to prayer, and she was bound to answer.

More frightening still, this means that her angelic pursuer is not the one who removed her wings. Indeed, the assailant must not have been angel at all, or they would surely all know. Is she the target of two hunters? The mystery she's been struggling to unravel has just been turned upside-down. And what of the gift that Scaramouch carries? Perhaps it holds more clues, or simply more questions.

Breathing a heavy and long-earned deep breath, she closes her eyes and lets herself rest. Perhaps she'll die at the hands of this angel soon enough, or at the end of the dagger that claimed her wings. Perhaps the reckoning had come and this was her judgement. Perhaps tomorrow she will be found and the answers will reveal themselves before her life is taken. Even this macabre sense of closure preferable to this mad waltz, the spiral of confusion that her consciousness spun from her shattered memory.


Her dreams were haunted by a shrieking choir singing a dissonant Sanctus.