Lucifer

Lana:

(Many millennia ago)

“Apolliana. Awaken my child.”

I look up at the barren walls of my prison and see The Creator materialize before me. My thoughts fly around my head like whispers that I cannot manage to hear, and my body aches painfully. I curl up in the corner of my bed, my torn wings fluttering behind me and my small bloody frame trembling. My eyes hurt from the light now beaming around us. It’s been so long since I have seen anything but darkness. There have only been a few situations where I’ve died and experienced respite. But I soon reemerge into my angelic shell and cycle back into my madness. I don’t even know how long I’ve been locked inside this non-existence. Many would say that angels cannot be vicious, but I’m drowning in my pain and death. My long golden hair, covered in blood and gore, falls around me like a bloody pelt, and my torn robe hangs off my mangled form. I try not to blink too much, but the light is unbearable.

Memories of tearing through angels besiege me as my rage threatens to consume me again. I look at my soiled hands and see dried blood rings beneath my torn nails before I look back up at the two beings standing before me.

“Is it time…is it time for me to die? Is death coming?” I ask dazedly as I rock in place and quote words that I’ve heard The Creator say.

“So will it be with the resurrection of the dead? The body that is sown is perishable; it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power, and it is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.”

The Creator’s large form wavers back and forth before mine. Unlike angels, The Creator has no true shape or gender. The Creator is light and darkness. The Creator just is. Some call him father and some mother. But there’s no acknowledgment of which is correct. The other archangel stands stall, his muscled body and sword arm stiff as he readies to attack. I try to see him, but my vision burns to the point that it’s difficult to see anything clearly. I only know what he is because the monster inside me cries for me to tear him apart. His grace extends from his body, scratching my skin like gravel and making my hunger for death and blood unbearable.

“You have been living in non-existence for centuries, my child. I had hoped that your madness had waned, but you have continued to tear through your own body until you’re mere ribbons.”

Using my matted hair as a curtain, I seethe and curl my fingers inside of my palms, fighting the urge to lunge at the creature who has placed me in this prison. It has been so long since I’ve felt anything but madness and fear. I am the first of my kind. A female archangel, created to mate with The Creator’s favored son. But my fate was irrevocably changed by the one I’m meant to be with.

I laugh a manic laugh as the irony of my situation flits through my mind.

The archangel stiffens further and takes a step forward. “Her madness has declined.”

My laugh grows into a cackle as I slide closer to the angel and grit out. “Come to me, angel. Let me taste your grace.”

His gasp of horror echoes inside of the tiny cell.