You are a demon, a creature of hellfire and ash and sin. You are not meant to have a heart, you are meant to fill the world with pain and discord and suffering. You do this for centuries, it isn’t pleasant but it’s your duty to your prince. One day, you infiltrate a home to plant discord, only to find the place is ravaged with it. A young child sees you, and you see the light in their eyes threatening to fade away. You remember you were once an angel before you fell, and you vow to protect that innocent light in whatever way you can. You can’t do good, but you can purposefully do evil to those who threaten the child. Months pass in this fashion and one day you find an ivory feather sprouting from your wings.
“son of a bitch,” keli said, plucking the feather from the tip of her wings. it licked up the sunlight, edges curling inward. she could feel its warmth through her hand, soft and inviting, as gentle a lull as the way BabyTodd’s eyelids drooped when he got sleepy.
“what’s wrong?” asked norma, poking her head into the nursery. she glanced at where BabyTodd was kicking idly at his mobile. “did he poop?”
keli held up the feather.
norma raised her eyebrows. “….very pretty?” she offered after a moment, voice pitching up in question at the end of the word. “i didn’t know they grew in colors other than black. i thought that was like, the whole vibe.” her brow furrowed suddenly. “oh–is that like–the demon version of a gray hair? are you getting old?”
keli is older than time itself. she was called into creation by the unexpected voice of the blackest heaven, pieced together by the inverse desire of the too-small things which would become men. she watched them grow from the very first pieces of matter, and waited in moonlight for them to evolve enough to hear her voice, and follow it.
she has explained this to norma many times.
“no, norma,” she says, somewhat patiently, but also somewhat like she is saying how many fucking times do we have to go over this, norma? “this is not a demon gray hair. it is an angel feather. here, listen.”
keli ran her fingertip along the edge of the wing and the feather sang out, a soft and lilting tune like a harp, but also like the sun filtering through the leaves of lush, green trees. the song that david wrote, that night so many years ago when he had sat on the floor and loved god the only way that he knew how.
“oooooo,” said norma. “neat. can i touch it?”
keli handed the feather over, and norma strummed it a few times. even keli had to admit the song was beautiful, although it wasn’t exactly pleasant for a demon to listen to. “this could make top 40 radio, easy,” norma mused. “like, throw in a baseline and some peppy lyrics about being single for the summer and you’d make bank. new music friday all the way, baby.” she frowned suddenly, then narrowed her eyes at keli. “did you kill an angel to get this?” she asked. “because we have talked about this. i am not bringing BabyTodd to visit you if you go to jail.”
“no prison can hold my dark power,” keli said. “norma. i need to know that you understand this, because we really have gone over it a lot and i’m starting to think that maybe you don’t listen to me when i talk to you.”
“well, i’m not bringing BabyTodd to visit you in hell, either,” norma answered placidly, “because hell is no more a place for baby than prison is.”
keli pinched the bridge of her nose. “i didn’t kill an angel for it,” she said on a sigh. “i grew it. by accident.”
“you grew it?” norma’s eyebrows rose. “like … on your body? yours? the demon one?”
“yes.”
“but you’re a demon.”
“i know.”
“but if you’re a demon, how can you grow an angel feather?”
keli waited a few seconds, until norma got it.
“holy shit,” norma said. “holy shit, you’re turning into an angel! holy shit!! your redemptive love for BabyTodd is making you a warrior for god!”
keli slumped into the rocking chair and covered her eyes with one hand. “not if i can help it,” she said grimly.
This is so gorgeous and perfect and funny. A great, great story with such rich emotion and tension and loveliness. I MUST FIND THE CREATOR AND SCREAM AT THEM IN TUMBLR FASHION
Published
nikkie's blog 