OF BLOOD AND ANGEL WINGS
William Prior could only swallow down the strain, allowing nothing to show that read less than I will protect you. It didn’t matter how much anxiety he felt, how fear would run through his body, how it threatened to shake him till his knees gave away. No, the Angel had been through too many battles of bloodshed to allow something as small as a concern to cripple him, and this fight would be no different, even if what was at stake was something dangerously close to his heart.
He supposed that’s why there was an unspoken law, where an angel could not love humanity as more than just God’s creation, but he’d been challenged to uphold this law with one of his longest-standing charges — Amber Lee — a girl with a dream and complications. How was he not supposed to love her? When he’d been witness to her humanly growth and when he was her designated guardian angel, her sworn protector and willing to lay down his life for hers if the need be.
Love was a tricky thing, but it was a heartachingly beautiful experience as he glides through this battlefield, his sword drawn he slays the enemies which dare face him. Across the field, several bodies and even more barricades away is the woman he’s fallen into love with, and he thinks she’s terrifyingly beautiful. The way she swung her weapon and defended her space, emerald-toned eyes aflare with a hunger. Her demeanor screamed of justice and peace, while her actions effortlessly shouted of war and death. He knew that Amber Lee could die and if he were a smart man, as smart as he likes to boast about, then he’d know the odds of survival and what a day like this meant.
William was a force to be reckoned with on this field and as easily was the enemies swung in his general direction, as his brothers in arms — angels fighting alongside the men and women brave enough to risk their lives — he effortlessly changes position, his sword a blessing to the flesh of weaker beings. God’s children couldn’t see their protectors with wings. They only saw themselves and the occasional advantage. Where odds should have been stacked against him, William grew steadily more confident in his ability to save them all. Soon he found himself fighting alongside Amber Lee, and they were oddly rhythmic in the way they moved as if she were aware of him — like he was of her. The scent of death fills his lungs, but it isn’t brought on by the dozens of bodies surrounding them or even by the flashbacks of past battles. This was a pungent foreboding, the sensation coming from the figure hovering just a short distance away. Cloaked in darkness, the figure was thin and pale against the harsh reality around them. William feels his fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword, but he’s slowed, then stopped completely against the rush. The shouts of warlords become drowned out, minor murmurs against the tugging of his heart as the figure raises its hand and unforgivingly points at the woman who held William’s heart. Please no, not her, William thought. But his thoughts were wasted on an uncaring audience. The defender had become the defenseless — for what was the will of the angel in comparison to the bringer of death?
The two rarely crossed paths and as unspoken laws went, to intervene with the end of a mortal’s life was to test fate, but he desires nothing more than to reach out to Amber Lee as she moves further into the skirmish, as her porcelain skin becomes unholy with blood. Giving in to the temptation within, he reaches out for her — any part of her… He’s nearly touching her now, fingertips grazing over blood-dampened fabric and his mouth opens to speak a single word. “Wait,” he says and it’s enough, thank the heavens, enough for her to slow, turn her head and this glimpse over her shoulder is all William needs. She’s seen him. “Don’t go any further,” he says, inching his way over the fallen souls. She’s questioning him with a single raise of her brows, wordlessly asking, what do you mean?
As he’s about to respond with an explanation, the taste of victory upon his tongue is like a sweet tea in the morning — honey-soaked and comforting. But William’s downfall had always been his eagerness to save, his lack of acceptance in an unalterable circumstance. He can’t reach her fast enough, for as little physical space stands between them, the figure adds more. There’s a desperate feeling inside him, air being stolen from his lungs, legs burning against the invisible blockade. “Please don’t do this,” he says, but he feels as if he’s begun to be unmade. As the figure prepares Amber Lee’s departure, William can’t help but think, this is not an honorable death — she deserves better.
And perhaps she did. Amber Lee was impaled by the enemy, a body dropped along with the countless others and no thought or attention would be given to how great she was — not until it was too late. She falls like a feather-light woman, cascading to the ground with her hands wrapped around the weapon resting inside the base of her belly and it’s nearly too painful to listen to the way the skin rips more as the enemy soldier takes back what belongs to him.
The figure, which by now should be given the title of death, watches with an indifferent gaze as William rushes toward her. Normally, Death doesn’t waste his time with words, his job was one of simplicity and order (for the greater good ), but something in the way William dropped to his knees, lifted Amber Lee’s body into his arms, made death feel as though something must be said. “You should have known that this was going to happen,” he says to the angel, but William won’t look up, he feels undone, a weight on his shoulders, his wings, once white now stained red, lay on the ground around them, shielding him and his dying love from the horrors of war for a few moments longer. “I did know… I felt it,” he responds.
But he had felt it before and yet had been able to stop all the predictions of years ago — Why not this one? As he holds her, he can feel the way her lungs struggle to grasp air, the way she feels already chilled against the warmth of his own skin. She’s looking up at him, her smile not as bright as William remembers it but he supposes it’s because what he’s holding at the moment is less Amber Lee and more remains of what once was. “Why couldn’t I stop it? You could have allowed me this one time,” he asks but no one was around to answer. Death didn’t linger for longer than needed and if William were in his right mind, he could understand that — understand that a duty had to be fulfilled. But as Amber Lee takes her final breath, he feels every ounce of fight in his leave. He thinks back to the stories of angels falling — different versions and reasons, the outcome, however, was ultimately the same. It happened when the angel broke, when fight and will, answers and knowledge fall away and they are left unmistakably human. William’s wings begin to break, he begins to feel himself come undone, and this transformation is painful. It is a sign of giving up, a white flag raised, but he would rather hang up his angelic soul than face another fight — than face himself as a better being in the morning when he failed in his one task. Trumpets in the distance sound, indicating a battle over and the angels that remain watch as a fellow brother dissipates into less holy grounds.
