Fallen Angel Part 1
In an old tavern at the center of a city, called Grandail, a girl of the age sixteen, sat on a steel, leather-padded stool, sipping on a mug of fine vintage ale. Her eyes were such a pure misty blue. The eyes were at their best when they would gleam against a calm night's moonlight. Her hair was a brilliant black-That of sheer darkness-though darkness failed to describe her personality in any aspect. She was as soft and lovely in her attitude and nature, as she was at sight. Despite all this she always held a deep consuming fear. This fear completely blinded her of all else. She feared her own loneliness. "Bethany," came a sharp voice from behind her. She looked to the moderate sized man behind herself, as she let a smooth sigh roll down with her tongue, caught to her breath. He continued, "Our business is done here." She nodded somberly, gathering her red velvet purse from the tavern's counter. He then nodded in response, walking out the door, as she followed.
Bethany broke to her knees, weeping. Her hands pounded on to the pavement, which paved the alley that lay behind the tavern. Her clothes now were torn in shreds spread through the alley. Her body was mangled in several places, leaving her as a complete distorted mess. Then as she composed herself enough to speak through her sadness, she screamed, "Mamus, I am sorry. I didn't mean to sadden you. Come back to me, please Mamus." Her cries were disregarded as the figure of the man faded from sight. Bethany's pleas for his affection filled the nights air, though it was most definite that he had little, if any affection to offer. Again Bethany had filled herself with illusions of a perfect partner, and out of desperation clung them to yet another wretched person of the lonely thing, called existence.
"Rise," said a voice from the shadows.
"I cant," She panted to whom she could not see, while brushing a patch of her hair out of her eyes, to spot who ever was speaking to her.
"Rise," the voice repeated.
"I told you. I cant." She wept, as she watched a trickle of her rich blood, stream along the rough pavement. A gaunt still face emerged from the all-consuming darkness of the area. His appearance was a marvel. His eyes and his hair were both shielded by the brim of his bowler cap. His lips slung in two thin cold violet strips of supple pink flesh that were held in his common expression of shear neutrality. He was dressed in a pin striped dress suit, crimson bowtie, smooth Italian leather dressing shoes, and holding a long black cane, that held a sculpture of a Taurus's face.
"You are fine. Now rise," He said. Bethany began to tremble, scared for her life and untrusting of this new man, but reluctantly she slowly came to her feet, realizing something.
She realized though she was once hurt, though bones were once broken, and though her blood was once at great loss, she began to feel reenergized and healed under the presence of this man. A trembling voice comes out from her soft lips, "who... who are you?" she asked.
"A sinner" he answered with smooth confidence that twisted and entwined with the odd nature of him. "Sin," he speaks the word clearly and with an expression of ponder. "Sin connects many of us, perhaps all of us, but more than sin, is what sin is held upon; the basic principles of right and wrong, for instance that fellow who just ran off."
"No!" She bursts out.
"No? So he did not just attempt to seduce you, then beat you and leave you for dead when you refused his will?"
She begins to sob again, then saying after a few moments she shouted, "But he didn't take advantage of my suffering, because he loves me!" As soon as she said this, she realized that she spoke these words not out of truth, but what she thought to be love, though it was actually the desperation for love.
"Oh really? You think that he left you to die because he loves you?" His laughter began to roll the crisp nights sky, his breath visible against the cold winter air. He continued, "He left because I wanted him to." She looked puzzled at this comment, unaware that much about this man would puzzle her.
"Sinner, what do you care of my life?" The man offered his hand to her, with a shift of his right brow, giving a handsome smirk of devilish proportions to this woman. She embraced his hand, feeling his intense warmth, as the two begin to walk out from the dark alley.
"I appreciate your purity from sin, though not to say you don't make bad choices. You do, not as often as most, but most of those choices have not seemed to conflict with sin except one in particular from what I am sensing. Those choices have quite often only been self damaging, and it is that reason, that I wish to free you from the pain that guides you into the same mistakes over and over," said the sinner. As he spoke, he took off his bowler cap, revealing not only his deep silver eyes, not only his slick long white strands of hair combed into pony tail at the back, but two small sharp horns -that of a goats- protruding his upper forehead, at the brim of his scalp. The horns would curl against his soft bangs, the only hair that was not bound into that lengthy ponytail.
The woman shrieked in fear, looking away in terror, nearly bolting away, just to find her self in his grasp, "What are you!" she asked in the midst of fear.
"Simply put, a creature of sin, but the advantages of such are in great number, and that is what I am offering you," said the sinner.
"No" she screamed, pushing the man off from her feet, then scrambling into the dangers of the unseen. She ran from his touch, along the sidewalk, knocking down any bystanders in her desperation, only to run into the torso of a very large man, that sent her falling onto the pavement once again, and in the way of a speeding vehicle. She felt a remarkable pain, before passing out completely.
When she awoke, she found herself in the grip of the sinner, his silver eyes sparkling with what seemed to be concern, but his mouth was trembling as if he was in great pain. "Where am I?" she asked, noticing that the surroundings looked to be a very luxurious dwelling. A grand fire at full brawl, the flames crackling, licking the stone that held the fury of nature, ash built at the bottom, under the wood, which was a floor of similar stone and clay, though as the floor stretched beyond the fireplace, it was built of pure shining marble. This fireplace was in bisecting a decorative display of stuffed trophy heads-that of boars, moose, and a few stags - all situated neatly along the fine logged wall.
With a gasp of pain he said, "Think of something you did bad in the past, anything you have ever done wrong!" Bethany, now beginning to feel the burning of his hand on her forehead began to think of an old memory, a terrible memory. Bethany was born in a small cabin, in the middle of Massachusetts. Her father was an owner of a successful restaurant. Bethany's mother died at the age of twenty-seven, while Bethany was only an infant. After Bethany's mother's death, the restaurant's success began to slip, and her father's sober state along with it. She suffered regular beatings by her drunkard father as the years past. One night, at the age of fifteen, on a cold Tuesday, Bethany had the supper fixed on the dining room table, as she knew her father liked. It was a meal of beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a pitcher full of nonalcoholic apple cider. The father entered around 10:45, about the time he always would, unless it had been a bad day, in which case he may not have appeared at all, but he did. He reeked of rum, absolutely plastered in the concoction.
"Bethany, where aw' you, you worthless wench," His voice was sharp, half spoken, and angry as it was often.
"Here father, in the dining room. I have prepared a delicious spread for us to feast on this night," her voice cheery, light, soft, and warm hearted. She was used to her fathers behavior, and felt that she, her self was inadequate, due to being treated like such for a great deal of her life. He entered the room, seeing the meal, and his daughter sitting delightfully, across the table. He reluctantly sat, and began to feast on what his daughter has displayed. "Shall we not say grace, father," She asked her father in a smooth gentle tone. He looked up from the mess of half eaten and strewn beef and potatoes- the green beans completely disregarded.
"What the hell has that bastard done for us, Bethany? I ask you, what the hell has that god damn bastard done for us, to thank him? He has done nothing but caused us pain," he blurted with his blatant attitude.
"Father, you shouldn't speak such things," she said in nearly a whisper.
"I will say as I god damn please in this house, you pathetic wench of a girl." Tears built in her eyes uncontrollably, for it looked as though the father hit a nerve in the poor girl. The man sighs softly, almost to small to be heard. Then gathering what he could find of his soul- surprisingly it had not drowned or died of alcohol poisoning yet - "you did a good job tonight, Bethany. How about a cheer instead," he said in a suggestive voice, though his face made it clear that it was not a suggestion at all.
"Alright father," She lifted her glass, and in what would have been a mirror image, flawed by the rum, he did the same. A clang from the collision of the two glasses was heard, and then a sipping commenced amongst the two. Suddenly her father's glass fell and smashed against the table.
"What the hell is this," he asked in pure anger.
"Cider, father," she answered. Bethany's father being a strong broad shoulder man, standing at six feet tall, easily lifted the table, flinging it against his daughter, smashing her into the wall, incidentally spilling hot gravy onto her shoulder, leaving a permanent scar there. She cringed in pain, then as her father neared her, with that burning ripe cherry of a face, clenched fist that burned with every bit of fury he could relinquish, she grabbed for a sharp ended, serrated, steak knife. With out any thought, all the power of her instincts bursting though her body, displayed in the swift motion of a jab into her father's eye, as his screams filled the small house.
"You dishonorable whore!" He screamed, pulling the knife from his bloody eye socket "Damn you to hell!" Bethany made it to her feet, and scrambled out of the house, in to the blackness, leaving her father. She vowed to her self that night that she would never return.
"There it is," the sinner Screamed. Bethany's body still lying on the ground, the sinner's hand flaring sensationally on her forehead, as her back arched, her legs kicked, and then she began to feel darkness caving in.
"Thou shall respect thy father and thy mother." A voice blistered into her skull. "Thou shall respect thy father and thy mother," the voice repeats. She began to envision her self in that tavern she was in earlier that night. She drank a small bit of her ale, to find it wasn't ale at all. It tasted of cider, and then as she looked at the glass in wonder, she dropped it on the ground in a shatter. It had been filled with not ale, nor cider, but thick rich blood. And now, as she watched this blood spread along the floorboards of the tavern, she noticed one large eye that rolled along the floor, and stopped at the tip of Bethany's left leather boot, looking directly up to her.
Bethany screamed, her head popping up, pushing away the sinner, her eyes lit with the fires of a thousand embers. Bethany felt immediate serge of power, as well as two strange appendages emerging from her back. Bethany looks to where the sinner stands, seeing the vision of her father's beet red face. She felt her body charge at the face with all her energy and anger, revenge on her mind. "Bethany, stop!" He held out his hand, covered with a white silk glove, holding it with an open palm, but curled and tensed fingers, and before she could get close enough to harm him, Bethany felt a strange power over her, making it impossible for her to move.
Bethany began to come to her senses as her breath slowed, her eyes glazed into a mellow state. "Where am I? What have I become," she asked.
"You are at the home of my friends, my family, and I. Welcome to the Blood Lust Manor. As for your second question, when you ran away, you knocked into a member of our family, and fell into the street. A car left you dieing, and it would have sent you to heaven, but I found enough sin in you to keep you here, give you some demonic powers, but it seems you weren't saved fast enough, for I was unable to make you a pure demon, because Bethany... You are a creature of blessed sin, a fallen angel."
"Fallen Angel... Hmm... Should that be her Blood Lust name, Grave Sinner?" asked a large strong figure situated in the darkness that lay away from the fireplace. The outline of his body lightens up by a congregation of candles that set on a few surrounding small lounge tables.
"That is an excellent idea, Bull Dozer. Oh, and Bull Dozer, don't you have something to say to miss Bethany, or should I say Fallen Angel," asks the Sinner.
"Oh yes... I am very sorry, Fallen Angel, for I was the one you bumped into on that sidewalk," said the large man.
Two sharp eyes gleam from the upper balcony, followed by an eerie low feminine voice, "What is this, Grave Sinner?"
"Our newest member, if she so chooses, Demonica," He answered.
"Well, miss Fallen, how about it," Asked the large thing known as Bull Dozer. Bethany's face showed expressions of frustration, curiosity, and more than either of the two, fear. Fear of what she was, Fear of this new place, Fear of these new people, but then passing a rich sigh from her breath, she felt revival, as if all the greaves of her past life were sliding off her shoulders onto the floor.
"I don't see why we should bother with her," said the voice known as Demonica. As she said this, she moved closer to the railing of the balcony, into the light. Demonica was quite lovely, though her horns were that of a ram. Her face was inhuman. Demonica's face was, quite narrow, devoid from emotion all together, her skin reddened in pigment, and its texture almost had a scale quality, though it was not rough skin, on the contrary; her scale like skin was soft at touch, almost that of a pillow. Demonica's chin was firm, and shaping a tiny V that added to her demonic appearance. Demonica's gorgeous orange curls would drape over her horns, forehead, and a few strands down to her small mildly plump cheeks. The thing that assured Demonica's emotionless expression, the final touch was her eyes. Those gaping black eyes, that seemed to eat away at all the light surrounding them, eyes of a pure devil they seemed, yet they did not show anger, fear, hatred, sadness, and especially not happiness.
"Oh, Demonica, Do give it a rest, will you? I would say you do not have an inch of hospitality in your body, not an inch. She has not been rude, so neither shall we, understand," Spoke another new voice, also that of a woman's, but this one was softer, sweeter, though at the same time had a very 'in control' tone. This voice also sounded a lot closer than that of Demonica's, in fact as Bethany turned her head to look for the source, she noticed a woman standing right beside her. This woman did not have horns, nor was her skin as vibrant as the others. This woman's skin was completely colorless, a canvas of absolute white. This woman's eyes were a soothing light green. Her hair was a magnificent hazel, which was not dead-strait, or curled as much as Demonica's hair, rather like an ocean wave descending from the center of the hair, all the way down to the ends that lye at her mid back.
"They call me The Countess, Fallen angel is it," asked the pail woman.
"Yes, I believe I am Fallen Angel now," answered Fallen Angel.
"Well, it is very nice to meet you, Fallen Angel," said The Countess.
Fallen Angel blushed deeply, and then said, "It is very nice to meet you too, Countess."
"Well miss Fallen, will ya' stay with us?" asked Bull Dozer.
"Will you stay? Will you stay? Will you stay? Pftt... Who really cares if she stays or not, Dozer," Demonica said mockingly, holding that expression of blankness she is known for.
"As a matter of fact I will stay," Fallen Angel said, while glaring at Demonica, as if to show she based her decision on only spite. Demonica fades back into the shadows, returning to the unseen.
"Do not pay her any mind, Fallen Angel. She is simply unreasonable through and through," said the Countess.
"Anyways, this is simply wonderful news," said Bull Dozer, as he rose from his seat, revealing his astonishing muscular build, as if his body was sculpted to that of a god's. His height alone was a stammering size at nine feet tall. As Fallen Angel's eyes traced up his impressive figure, she was shocked to find that he looked nothing like anything else under this roof, or any roof of her knowledge. His face was not a pigment she could see, for his bare face was not visible, rather it was covered in a thick brown fur. Though he had horns like the others, his horns did not resemble those of a goat, or those of a ram. Bull Dozer had the horns of a bull; in fact his entire face resembled a bull. His rich wild fur rolled down his chest, abdominal muscles, and traveled all the way to the point his loincloth had covered. His eyes were a similar brown to that of his fur, and at the center of his scalp formed a thin mane of hair that protruded the surrounding fur, and traveled down his back, along the spinal area, cut off by his loincloth once again.
"Bull Dozer, Do show Fallen Angel to her room, and Countess, meet me in my master bedroom when the grand father clock strikes twelve" ordered Grave Sinner. Both nodded. The Countess then fell into the shadows, as Bull Dozer reached for Fallen Angel's hand.
"Right this way, miss Fallen," said the large gentle Bull Dozer. Fallen Angel placed her small delicate hand into the hand of the Minotaur. The two of them traveled up an old colonial staircase, then down the grand hall, turning into the farthest door to the right, which was to be her room. The room was painted a fine light plum color, decorated with what looked to be the most expensive of vases, furniture, framed paintings, and fine literature. The bed was fit for a queen, the aroma was extravagant, the smell of fresh lilac berries of the spring.
"Is this my room, mister Bull Dozer," asked Fallen Angel.
"No need to call me mister, miss Fallen, for the only real mister here is mister Grave Sinner, and yes, it most certainly is," He answered. She gave him a large warm hug, as she felt her inner-self screaming for joy. Never in all her life had she been treated to such a luxurious place for herself. Bull Dozer embraced her in a hug, being gentle of the much smaller figure than him. Bull Dozer then trounced away from the room, to pursue other business. A moment later another figure appeared in the door. It was the well framed, elegant, but at the same time what Fallen thought as the most sinister creature to plague the darkest spiral, known as Demonica.
"What is it you think you will gain by living amongst the creatures of night, sin, and all earthly suffering," asked Demonica.
"I am not sure," said Fallen Angel with a light trace of despair.
Then Demonica began, "just as I thought"
"But I will find out, and I will take as much god damn time I wish to in doing so," quickly and abruptly Fallen interrupted. Demonica nodded, then making her way back down the hall to her room, only around half a dozen from Fallen Angel's room. Screams, moans, and other bazaar noises, though not foreign to Fallen Angel flowed down the hallways like a chilly winter draft. Fallen Angel remembered such sounds when as a young girl, her father would bring half dressed women into the home, and later in the night, such noises persist, for Fallen Angel was a virgin, and understood the idea of sex, but not the function. Fallen looked into the mirror that set behind a small dresser of her room.
She noticed that her hair was no longer a black, rather a soft gentle white, and her eyes no longer a misty blue, rather a sharp silver, all reflecting her personality well, though now she was not so sure about that. That sin that she had building inside was beginning to take form, a form she was disgusted with, a form of herself. Perhaps it wasn't that she was a bad person at all, she thought to herself. Perhaps it was what she was now, not who she has always been. Perhaps this new creature of sin inside of her was this form, nothing else. It was a terrible fate really, to have the soul damned to hell and the body meant for heaven.