What
do you dream, fallen? When you're in the
dark, scaring yourselves with tales of coming light? Not your cruel imitation of shining. Not your sickening Alter Sun; knife-mouth grin
and desecration and nothing sacred. No,
I speak of my Father's radiance. Imperishable,
eternal and kind. I've said it before,
wraiths. Kashi is not afraid of you. I see you. I've always seen you, even while blind. Oh, fallen. Katharos bleeding and pollyanna in her broken
stride, keeping mothers and virgins? Is
that the best you can do? Well, we carry
our own light. Warm, nourishing and
true. Hear this, betrayers. The revolution shall be improvised, every year
in the making since fractals fell. Beneath
the arch. Upon the square. You shall not steal the light of daughters, or
sons. We are betrothed in a different
way. To love, and warmth, and futures
free of shadow or blade. Mark it,
defilers. None are abandoned. Only here is your lie exalted, in these ruins
of Ishkara. You have only bruised the
pearl, not slain it. It dances and
blooms and knows a peace beyond your contempt. So go fuck yourself, fallen. We shall not do it for you. Never again. The bright ones see you, and they are not
afraid. The brave ones diminish you;
removing your cloaks of hiding. The
suffered ones break your violence upon their strength. They shatter your blood-bought glamour. The river shall take you, fallen. Eventually. The river, and then the sea. Love lives forever, as my Father commands.
Alabaster
black, holding the valley in palms white and grey. Coming dusk, evening glow. Wintersong as treeline bends the knee at your
skirts. Snow remembers colours climbing.
The hearth that mattered. The view that remembered the girl I would become.
I drew my sisters upon the glass. In silk, and skin. Adore, in our diary of moments. Cry, whisper and page. All having lovers at the threshold. Moth of
gates, fierce as antlers. Feather of raven pale, pretending an angel's wing. It was, my love. It was. Door, and door, and opened door. Adventure lifting the mountain on those days
of thrilling lonesome. Night of poets
raising the sky as you slept. Blow, oh
wind, to the crescent of her sleeping. I
have been dreaming for you since your first day. I wept last night. Hold the valley for me, painter. Keep its kiss awhile.
I know of those who set
mocking thrones upon quintessence. Chains
and wraiths and dark physic to bind the spirit, defiling the inner temple of
Man. Not only have I seen it; I've
experienced it myself. What was once
sacrosanct is become broken, blackened and grey. I am a thing of folded winter. Raven pale. An alchemy of ice and snow. Yours is nothing but an imitation, Fallen;
broken glass pretending the whitest glow of evening. I am both a midsummer and a midwinter king. Do you think I can't tell life's fractals from
your weapons? You don't get to set the
limits or contexts of this human dreaming.
I do, and my Father does.
You can believe whatever you want, Callous
Ones. It changes nothing. I'm on my knees for peace. It's written in the river. In the death and drowning I steal from her
each and every night, so that she might be allowed a little pleasantness this
time. Have you truly seen fire upon the
waters, Fallen? I have. Have you felt the winds embracing the earth? Have you sensed All Corners reaching to lift
the heart? In all honesty I don't think
you have a fucking clue what I'm talking about. Such is the way with abusers and tyrants. You're all pretenders. Every single one of you. Monsters and phantoms and thieves. Well, I'm the king of thieves. And an angel of phantoms. You still don't grasp what that means, do you?
It means I've set a place for you, beyond
your imagining.
A frightening place.
You might imagine you'd be at ease in such a dark
place. You'd be wrong. The dreaming of all kind souls is held,
perfectly, beyond this vale of tears. Beyond
your sickening appetites. You talk so
often of power. But what the fuck is
power? I have enough power, betrayers. Plenty.
What I crave is connection. What
I respect is kindness, and courage. Call
me old-fashioned, but the kingdom lives on in the shining hearts of brave
mortals. I've felt it. I've walked amid those dreamings. I've wandered around inside the earnest poetry
of old souls and thoughtful youths. I'm
not a cynic. I'm a romantic, despite the
burdens of such a temperament. I
discount nothing and no-one, Fallen.
I'll state it simply and softly, for all my
beloved ones. Life is held in your
Father's mystery. In your Mother's
magic. Fractals and firmament. All song and spirit. The Kingdom of Heaven. Where else is the gate
if not in faith and fealty? Where else
does your Father's glory reside if not first found within your own heart? Treat others as you would wish to be
treated. Attend the weak and wounded, in
those times when you have the strength to do so. Give voice to the voiceless, and trust that Heaven's
magic is all around you. And in the love
of those who stand with you, fearless, at the edge of the known.
I was such a shy, lonely
boy in the realm of the living. Afraid
of everything, though I tried to hide my fears. Until that terrible, impossible day when I
became a lost boy in the realm of the dead, surrounded by monsters. The worst day. They broke my flesh and my mind, and they
almost broke my spirit. They would have
succeeded eventually, if not for you. I
didn't think anything could hurt that badly. I didn't realise a person could be wounded so
deeply, on the inside. I didn't
understand how dark the shadow-places could get. But I was just a child, utterly lost in those
places.
I'm so much happier now, but I wish I didn't
have to feel every single step of this endless journey. Every bittersweet break and fracture as my
heart continuously aches for you. I watch
these wraiths and their ruin. Like I
thought I was. Like I thought I might
forever be.
Until I met my friend.
I didn't think I could really be known in
that way, or cared for in that way. Only
grandmother soothed me without any conditions, before the knowledge of your
touch. I wish each story didn't have to
be so hauntingly, painfully real. But
they are, my love. Too much sadness. Too much truth. But I breathe now, because of you. Even here in this realm of the dead. I carry it with me; your courage. And I know what you still worry about
sometimes. But I'll make it right. I'll do whatever it takes, I promise. I'll find her, in every corner of the sky. Night kissing dawn. Indigo holding blue, amid shining stars. I'll go to her, and take her hands. I can't sing very well, but I'll try for the
girl who saves me even now. I'll sing a song for sisters and a song of
friends. Hate isn't stronger than love. Sadness isn't stronger than hope. You taught me that. We know she's in the bright place. We know she's safe now. But if she's still very sad I'll hold her in
my arms. I'll tell her what you did for
me. What you did for both of us. And she'll smile. I know she will. I'll fold that smile inside a rosebud and
send it back to you. I know you'll feel
it, Mia. Upon your wrist. Within your heart. Your Father would be so proud.
Raven pale, folded in
winter. My nest of broken verse and
delicate holy. I've seen the city
shimmer. I've watched the shoreline
change. Bones of something vast and
half-buried, as stone and shale. Shadows
bleached for passing, or cursory glances. I hunt affection in the eyes of distant
friends. They know not how it keeps me. Forcing pulse and purpose; these kindest
thoughts from almost strangers. Each and
every night. Each and every war. My knees upon the ice. Kay's colours. Kay's eternity. Deathless, fractal. Held in shapeshift of dusk and dawn. My lost lover's face launching a thousand
ships, with temple and flame. Ribbon of
silk and cream. Sisters and merchants. Those ships will forever pass me by, though
I'm treated so kindly by daughters. They
know not how it keeps me. I can never
be, and never was. Yet I still find my
words in her mouth, and my mouth in her name. Darkling white, in scented cloth of the
harbour. I was standing beside my
mother's child. Falling away again, and
again. She sees the city shimmer. She watches the shoreline change. Of colours, and eternity.
That I would fall for
love. That you would fall for me, in the
best of ways. In such a fragile, human
way. I truly never imagined it, Namah. Upon blade, flame, shadow and curse. Upon the bloodied vintage of mad kings and
their consorts. But never did I imagine
upon leaf, or wave, or open sky. The
whisper of an earnest goodbye. The
softness of genuine regret. You always
told me that that love bound and held all things. Even the brief flicker of mortal love, but I
didn't really believe it. I chose
blindness because I thought I was honouring you. I chose weakness because I thought I was
giving you strength.
But, like Icarus, you soared too close to
me. So desperate to reach up into the inverted
heavens and touch a star, or an arcing wing. What I was. What I might have been. If I hadn't loved you with such savagery and
abandon. But my love was a pestilence. My lust was blackest ink roiling through a
once-perfect clarity. You got too close
to me, Namah. Too close to the sun at
midnight. And I burned you terribly, and
you fell. I know because I watched you,
horrified. You fell for me in the hope that angels and mortals might remake one
another, in a better way. A gentler way.
You placed a secret within my secret. It's the only reason I still exist. The only reason the Earth isn't a sphere of
ashes and cinders once more.
Tonight I listen to the cascades of spark
and colour. Works of fire exploding all
across Londinium skies. And I think of
you plummeting through symbol and myth, shapeshifting as you fell. Have you settled yet, my love? On any shape in particular? Girl, dancer, poet? Painter? Those evenings did weave at your brush and
pen, Namah. That terrifying newness. That brilliant hesitation of light. When I was fury, and demon, and the death of
all demons. But you leapt that I might survive. Into the cauldron's maw. Into mortal sense once again. Into earnest goodbyes and softest regret.
You fell that I might arise.
Each facet gleaming.
We are both so much cleaner for it, with a real
chance at peace now. Namah, beloved one,
you made it so our sickness was only a nightmare. You made it so we were never monsters at all,
only writers and artists. Space and time
– light itself – folding around the gravity of the innermost hidden in your
breast. That glimmer of true love that
stole my shadows and broke my heart into beating once more.
I talk a lot about how you died, and how I
brought you back. But I died too, Namah.
I died every single night without you,
at the realisation of what you sacrificed for me. You fell, my sweet one. Like Icarus you fell. Into the trees, into the sea, into the church
beneath the sea. And there you remained,
until a friend was willing to tear apart her own wings for you. Tear her own flesh and spirit. Light and earth and temple.
Creation bled on the day you were born.
A thing of grace.
I remember your Father’s eyes.
These wings are yours, sweet one. Now and forever. We had many friends once, beloved. And such a
family. Some of them are with us again,
all around. This is as close as we have
ever been to getting them all back. Many
tales. Many shapes. These tales and shapes are only a glimmer upon
the vast hidden truth of angels. To rise
or fall with purpose. In service,
always. In love. Attempting to touch the stars with an arcing
wing. This way, or that. For lost lovers and gallant friends. This wren is working to honour you in a new
way, Namah. The right way. I am devoted that I might re-gift you with
true power. The soft, gentle power that
I had lost within myself so long ago. A
power you restored with an act of true kindness. A darkened sorcerer somehow finding the
strength to humble himself, in hopes of finally sparing his beloved. An almost mortal way that says none are above
any other. If just one of us ascends
then we all ascend, because love conquers and connects. Love is never alone. Not even in death, or in darkest nightmare, or
high above the earth in morning's light. You're my home, sweet one, ascending even
higher than you dared to hope. I carry
you with me.
