♱ •⋅ 1750 B.C. ⋅• ♱ •⋅ Samael ⋅• ♱
I blinked.
"What was it?" she asked me as she sat in the armchair and the red-eyed duchess stared at me with an raised eyebrow.
"I did not expect... the two" I spoke sincerely, after all the agreement I had made with Elaine was already a clear way to make the duchess calmer with all that; even so, the sharp gaze of Asra shot me as if my mere mention of her being there was an offense. Maybe it was the result of years on the battlefield, but I knew when I wasn’t able to win a war, so I sighed winning "but since you’re here..." I muttered indicating with one hand to the armchairs - sit down.
"Where will you start?" Asra questioned, the red hair falling with perfectly braided waves on her back, the sharp eyes staring at me and looking for any sign of flickering in my attitudes or decisions.
"I’ve been thinking about tears..." I said remembering Quinn, the way he had acted.
Since that day, the bastard did not even give me a mere sign of life and Callisto’s numerous and persistent letters continued to pile up on my desk. Some where he threatened me, the temples and the wings as if he really possessed some power over us and others - countless others -, where he begged for help. For forgiveness.
I could have answered him, I could have calmed his fears or cherished his doubts; yes, I could, but at the same time - it bothered me the way he held that poor child like a lifeline.
"What do you say we... go for something more fruitful?" Elaine asked, one hand playing for her lips, taking me totally by surprise.
I snitched.
"You think your tears won’t work?" I couldn’t help but ask and the blonde stared at me with those big blue eyes that seemed capable of trapping the mortal sky within its immensity.
"I’m a saint, not a phoenix," she let go, her eyes low as she spoke, it was almost as if there wasn’t really a phoenix among us.
I was being honest, but somehow it amused me. It was like a child complaining about an old legend being considered true.
I cleared my throat.
"So... have you ever tried to use your tears in bruises?" I asked knowing that no. Tears should be avoided and even being a saint...
"It does not work" she said coldly "cried over the corpse of a child" her voice was laden with pain "I cried until I had no tears left and the child never returned, his wounds did not close and no miracle occurred" there was a grudge there, I could feel it even though she was trying hard to hide. It was the grudge of someone who never asked to be in that position.
"Miracles..." I grumbled and she let out a low, restrained laugh.
"Miracles only happen when a certain son of a bitch thinks it suits him" his tone was cold and sharp, so similar to Quinn’s when he fell that for a moment I couldn’t help but think that Calisto would have easily fallen in love with her.
I waited for lightning or waves of power from the heavens. I waited for her to fall to the ground and scream as her body writhed in pain and punishment; but nothing happened.
For some reason I didn’t know, my body stiffened as I listened and something weighed on me. Something strange that I never felt before, perhaps because, deep down, I also had a child who did not want to see die.
"So...?" the duchess stared at me "why don’t you test blood?"
I joined my eyebrows as I opened my mouth with a brief arch.
"I thought you didn’t want me tearing up your wife and drawing her blood while I thought about the shapes of..."
"She’s not my wife yet," Elaine said interrupting me with her blushing face.
"I really don’t want to" Asra said in a hiss and when they both realized it, they stared as I contained my urge to laugh and again, everyone continued to be ridiculous, ridiculous and in love as the one who deserved attention - languished in a lonely, empty bed.
In that comical way and with numerous discussions, something was decided before the end of the day and finally, Elaine’s blood was collected. Since then, the saint came every morning, new samples were collected, new attempts were studied and before 3 weeks passed, there was in my hands a white liquid in a small round jar with a crystal cork. That tiny, somewhat ridiculous thing was enough for the dying body of the child that Quinn left me to protect in his absence - to recover.
• ♱ •
"Where are the cards?" I asked with my arms crossed as Remiel shrugged in that childish, smiling form.
"Are you expecting letters from Callisto?" he questioned with bright eyes, obviously looking for something to distract him from his daytime boredom.
"No" I grumbled angrily, because I would hate to admit to him or anyone else - how much it bothered me that there were no answers since that day.
In the 7th of the 14th month of 1750, with only 24 days left for the new year, I sent to the king what would be a potion capable of healing the child, able to make his body stronger, but... there was no response.
"Maybe he died" Remiel said as if he read my mind "or maybe made worse, don’t you think that’s possible?"
I popped my tongue in the roof of my mouth.
"I was the one who made that potion, it is obvious that it is not possible" my words should come out in a fun and ordinary tone, but somehow, they were cast into the little angelic being like the tip of a whip, snapping on his back.
The surprise on my wing’s face was too obvious, but there was also a lot of fun in his smile that just expanded.
"How sweet" Remiel mocked "you’re finally acting like the one who..."
"Shut up" I growled.
"Oh heaven" the little fallen snored "I’m trembling with fear, oh! What will become of me!"
That was it.
It was done.
My peace had gone down the drain and Callisto’s letters, which would NEVER come, were the least of my problems.
⋅• ♱ •⋅