Socheniel appears. A single tongue of fire above his head. His hood pulled forward such that his face is in shadow. Socheniel appears before me with his left hand extended towards me, palm up, in invitation. Take my hand. Come with me. His robe appears black except for where the light of the holy flame touches it. There is becomes bright and vivid red. There is now a hem upon the edges of the blight-made cloth. When black there is no decoration within it. The holy flame shows a series of embroidery in what appears to be glowing golden thread. The marks strike me as a record of words. That if I could read them, they would be an incantation. For weal or for woe, I do not know, nor do I know what those words could be.
Socheniel appears in a form of his office. I know it is not his only presentation. But it is one I am used to, and one he explicitly uses to identify himself to me when he is not the friendly lunk I knew before. His right hand grips an upright shaft, holding it stiffly close to his body. I recognize it to be a weapon, but I can not see the head of it. When I look away, the shaft appears to extend up, piercing the heavens miles above us. It appears infinite in my peripheral vision. When I look at it, it is merely a rod the length of his forearm. I unconsciously understand it is a new mark of his station. His left hand remains extended towards me. The blight appearing as a living web across his glowing titanium hued skin. Take my hand. Come with me.
Socheniel appears before me. But he is not alone. Standing behind his metallic wings are two other angels. They are wearing the same type and style of robes as Socheniel, but no flame graces their heads. They look down but not in arrogance. It is not their concern who I am. They both wield huge swords. The tips rest on the ground at their feet. Their hands rest gently on the hilt that rises to their waist. The blades are double-edged and shaped like a willow leaf. Their wings are almost hidden by the attendant darkness, but I am able to see the texture is the same as Socheniel’s.
“Take my hand. Come with me.”
My knees weaken from the thunder in his voice. I burst into tears and bite my tongue so not to wail in fright. Something terrible has come to me and I am unable to bear the fury of its presence. It is only when I feel the ground biting my fallen knees that I find the ability to speak.
“I… can’t. I’m afraid.”
He lowers his hand so I can reach it from my lowered position. “Take my hand. Come with me.”
“Why?”
He does not answer, this angel of his god.
The tears pour unending from my eyes. I want to touch him. I want to explore the changes in his appearance. I want to see if his wings are the soft metal they appear to be. I want to examine the embroidery and feel the language burn my tongue. I want to exult in his restoration, in his elevation, in his return to what he has always been. I am happy to see my wounded friend being what he has always been from the beginning.
My mortality betrays me and my descent to the ground at his feet is completed.
“I… can not bear… what you… have become.” I shiver from unexplainable terror. Paralyzed with fear, I am helpless before the destroying angel. His presence is so great, I am unable to think on all my alternate means of escaping from him. I am captive and he hasn’t even touched me. “I… can’t.”
He pulls his hand back and lifts it to cover his shadowed face. The heavy presence that was crushing me lifts and I am able to sit up on the ground. The combined presence of the three angels is still too much for me to bear standing. I sit on the ground happy and miserable, enjoying his ascension and mourning the implications for our friendship.
“I understand.” The three angels move as one and start backstepping into the surrounding darkness. They fade from my sight, dematerializing and becoming what they have always been. I am surprised to see the flame receding before his face does. He lowers his hand and I see his face clearly. Still no globes gleam in those dry sockets. I am surprised to see something like a tear escaping from them instead. He lowers his head and I am left alone in the darkness.
Angel tears? No such thing. Right? I don’t know. I should feel relief now that the crushing on my spirit has ended. But now I am left alone bereft of something I didn’t know I desperately craved, something I still haven’t identified, something that I only have when in Socheniel’s presence. I feel empty and broken. The force of my wailing throws me back to the ground. The sound piercing what little cognition I was able to recover and burying me in the stench of mortal dreams.