Reluctant Angel
By Terrë
***
He does not know that I watch him.
He plays softly, the strings muted; drawing resolute grief from his instrument, a feat that I cannot hope to obtain even if I play for a thousand more years. His head is tipped back a little, eyes shut, face calm as his arm moves back and forth, exhorting, from the strings, a world’s sorrow.
I can almost see millions crying when he plays. I can see the suffering of war, of famine, of destruction or tyranny. I hear the screams of a hundred million souls.
He feels it.
Because tonight is Kaamos. The night before the day when the sun does not rise; his night of remembrance and mine. I’ve seen it once before – him – playing on this night alone.
I watch and I wonder what he really is?
As his fingers move surely over the strings, it begins. His hair is glowing around him, first haloed by candlelight, then something more. Something brighter. His music is coming alive around him. I can feel it buzzing in the air, feel it whirling around his body. He is shaking. I shrink away into the shadows.
Then from his shoulders burst incandescent wings. He lets his head drop back, lets the pinions cradle him for a moment before they spread open, stirring the air. He sobs softly. His fingers falter and he lets the cello drop.
As it falls, my heart stops. I bite my lip. He holds out his fingers, the fingers that just brought the world to a standstill. Blood drips slowly from them, to the floor. The sound of each drip is a plea. He is utterly still.
The moment passes. He shudders and his head falls to his chest. I cannot bear to see his beauty and shut my eyes. He feels it, because his eyes find me in my own mortal darkness.
He says nothing, but the wings fold away. Not a single scar mars his smooth back to show their presence. He picks up his cello and wipes his blooded hand.
My reluctant angel.
“Eicca? Is that you? Get me a tissue. I’ve just cut myself.”
I blink. Lost myself for a minute there. I go to do his bidding.
Perttu. He’s such a klutz!
***
END