For several days after, I could hardly sleep. Even when I was exhausted, I forced myself to stay up into the middle of the night reading. Lucifer’s name kept appearing in the pages with maddening frequency. Each time I saw it, I’d angrily slash it out, sometimes so hard the paper tore beneath the pen. After I’d finally crossed out half the instances of “Lucifer” in the book, I suddenly noticed that the little punctures in the pages looked like wounds, raw and unhealed. They brought no relief, only a mess of ragged paper and pain.
Through it all, Ruthfel just sat behind me, watching quietly, saying nothing. Not until I finally collapsed on the table and drifted off did I feel someone slip an arm beneath my back and legs, gently lift me up, and lay me on the bed. I wanted to see who it was, but my eyelids were too heavy. All I felt was the faint press of lips on mine, and a familiar voice murmuring at my ear:
“Isar… forget him.”
When the first light of morning spilled into the room, I dragged myself half-awake to the bathroom, only to nearly scream at the sight in the mirror. The skin under my eyes looked smeared with tar, my cheeks were sunken, and my frame so thin I resembled a skeleton. I looked like a drug addict.
That frightful sight snapped me fully awake. Dazed, I wobbled back to the bed and collapsed onto it, staring blankly at the ceiling.
It was a bright and sunny morning, yet I didn’t even have the strength to glance out the window.
They say time is the greatest healer. I thought, maybe if I just keep lying here with my eyes closed, waiting and waiting, the day will come when I no longer feel that crushing despair every time I think of Lucifer.
I hoped that day would hurry up and arrive. I just wanted to skip ahead to the part where I’d forgotten him.
Ruthfel climbed onto the bed and gently lifted a spoonful of oatmeal to my lips. He’d brought me meals like this for days now, never saying where they came from. I shook my head and murmured that I wasn’t hungry.
He set the bowl down and sat at the edge of the bed for a long time, his hands clasped loosely in his lap.
I glanced at them instinctively and froze in shock.
His hands were covered in injuries. Burns, cuts, swelling, bruises… Layer upon layer, crisscrossed across his once soft, pale skin, hands that had been as smooth and fair as lotus roots now looked battered beyond recognition. One of the wounds seemed to be healing and itching; he rubbed the back of his hand absently against his clothes before picking up the bowl and getting ready to leave.
I grabbed his hand. “What happened to you? Why are you hurt like this? Why haven’t you healed yourself?”
Ruthfel looked up at me. Those clear blue eyes held no emotion at all. “To get hurt and never heal. To let the pain linger on and on… You think that’s wrong too, don’t you?”
I was stunned. Without thinking, I snatched the oatmeal from him and gulped it down in a rush, barely breathing between mouthfuls. I nearly choked by the end of it. “I’m sorry, Farthead,” I gasped. “I’m sorry… I’ve been so caught up in my own pain. I didn’t think… I’m so sorry.”
Ruthfel shook his head against my chest and gently wrapped his arms around me.
……
Because of my poor health and the fact that no one else was around, Ruthfel had practically turned into a busy little bee, a tiny thing carrying a miniature market basket, flitting out to buy groceries. At first, I felt oddly touched. But later, I realized he had no idea how to shop. He spent four gold coins on a single carrot and twenty on a small bundle of raw beef. Ruthfel insisted money wasn’t the issue, that what mattered was getting me better soon, but after hearing that, I just felt worse.
That afternoon, Ruthfel had gone out again. I was lying in bed resting when the window suddenly swung open. Someone flew in and landed beside me.
“Well now, completely worn out, are we?”
My eyelids felt like they were glued shut; it took forever just to get them halfway open. I rubbed at them, my skin burning hot. “Lord Metatron…”
Metatron held a silver staff capped with gold, encrusted with a large celestial star crystal. He leaned his head lazily against it and sighed at me.
“Little Isar… Even I, known throughout the capital as the greatest libertine alive, know better than to indulge myself too much. And you, of all people, always so pure and reserved… how’d you end up throwing caution to the wind? You’re just a kid, and you thought you could keep pace with Lucifer? He wants it however many times and you give it to him however many times—you’ll be lucky if you ever get out of bed again. Look, I don’t care what you two get up to, but don’t go giving in to him so easily. He’s no different from any other man. The more you give, the more he’ll take. You’re already in this state and he still had the heart to push you? Be careful he doesn’t just use you up. Look at how skinny you are…”
He reached out and pinched my cheek—then abruptly pulled his hand back.
“What’s going on?”
At this point my face probably could’ve been used to roast a pigeon.
Metatron tossed the staff aside and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
“What happened? How’d you get sick? Was it Lucifer?”
I cleared my throat, the sound coming out rough as gravel: “It’s nothing to do with him. I haven’t seen him in days.”
“How could that be? The whole Heaven is saying Lucifer skipped out on his birthday feast to sneak off with you. He hasn’t been back to the Sanctum since and only returned once yesterday. God summoned him for a long scolding, but the moment it ended, he vanished again. God hasn’t shown anger in ages, mind you, but this time He directly ordered me to find him. I assumed he was here with you…”
I shook my head. “Don’t. Don’t mention that name again.”
“Alright, I won’t. But you’re in no condition to stay here like this. Come rest at my place for now.”
I struck a strongman pose. “I’ll be fine. I recover quickly.”
Metatron tugged at the sleeve of my robe. It hung loose and empty, fluttering a little, which only made me feel more humiliated. He furrowed his brow, then gently pulled me into his arms, holding me close against his chest. Maybe it was the illness, or maybe the hollowness after being discarded that made me long for comfort… but for once, I didn’t resist the intimacy. I simply closed my eyes and let out a long sigh.
Then, the door creaked open.
Both Metatron and I instinctively looked over.
Ruthfel entered, carrying a tray piled with food and a mug of hot milk. His gaze paused when he saw us. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, then silently stepped back. I took the chance to sit up and smooth down my hair. Ruthfel gave a small shake of his wings and silently glided toward us, placing the tray on the table. There were dark smudges on his face.
Metatron glanced at him in surprise, thanked him softly, and then looked at me—hesitating for a long moment before sighing in resignation.
Ruthfel picked up a knife and fork and began cutting the meat into many small pieces. His movements were clumsier than before, and the silverware clattered noisily against the plate. That’s when I noticed the fresh wounds on his hands.
I grabbed the knife and fork from his grip and seized his wrist. “Stop cooking. You’re bleeding all over again.”
Ruthfel stared at me, dazed.
Metatron speared a slice of meat and held it near my mouth. “Come on, open up—ahhh.”
“How gross. What kind of grown man does that?” I frowned, swatting his hand away, but still ended up with a mouthful mid-sentence.
He lounged against the pillow, one hand propping up his head, and lifted his chin at me.
“Think seriously about what I said. Come live at my place. Don’t worry, I just want to see you eat like a happy little piglet and plump up a bit. As for whether or not I get to take a bite, that’s totally your call. Aha.”
I was about to reject him outright, but I didn’t want to see Ruthfel worry about me anymore.
I paused. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
Metatron flew off like a happy pigeon.
Staring at the history book I’d defaced with angry scribbles, I suddenly felt like such a loser. I shouldn’t keep acting like this. I began taping little slips of paper back over each cut, carefully writing “Lucifer” on them again, as if patching wounds.
Ruthfel grabbed my hand, stopping me.
“Let me finish,” I said. “I don’t want to hate him. I just want to face it calmly.” I kept writing.
But each time I stuck a paper over the torn page, it felt like the wound grew deeper instead of healing. Every time I wrote his name, the pain intensified. I barely covered a few spots before my hand dropped to my forehead, trembling with exhaustion as I stared at that name, unable to breathe.
Ruthfel snatched the paper from my hand, visibly upset. “I told you not to write it again.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll listen to you.” I pinched his cheek and started reading instead.
Flipping to the section titled The Right Wing of God, my eyes landed on a slightly faded image of a six-winged angel.
I stared at the figure in a daze. Ruthfel immediately removed the book from me. “Don’t look.”
I ran both hands through my bangs, messing up my hair. “I really want to punch him. Tell him that I, Isar, can live just fine without him. But I don’t have the right to. He never once told me he loved me. I was just the one who couldn’t handle it.”
Ruthfel’s brow tightened. His jaw clenched hard.
My eyes were burning so badly that blinking several times still didn’t help. I pressed my temples. “But I’ve liked lots of people before, and I’ve had my heart broken more times than I can count. The last one, I got over them in just a few days, even after dating for more than a year. This thing came on fast, so it’ll fade fast too. I’ll be fine soon.” I turned and ruffled Ruthfel’s hair. “Farthead, I promise. I’ll pull myself together.”
Ruthfel hesitated, then handed the book back to me.
I glanced at the portrait inside, my hand almost moved to touch the person in the picture, but in the end I just shut the book and set it aside.
“See? I said I would, and I did. I won’t look anymore, alright?”
Ruthfel nodded, eyes slightly red.
Though he was older in years, Ruthfel really was still just a child. He didn’t yet understand that not looking at someone doesn’t mean they disappear from your life.
Quite the opposite.
Refusing to look often just means you’re afraid of letting them leave behind even more memories.
……
……
I had a very strange dream. In the dream, I had shrunk down, but I had six wings and shoulder-length, tomato-colored hair.
In a gentle drizzle, I squatted on the lawn with a stick in my hand, digging a small pit in the damp soil. My wings, like sponges, soaked up so much rainwater they hung heavy on my back. The pit grew larger and larger, my arms grew more and more sore, until I had dug out something the size of a washbasin. I hugged my knees and stared at the raindrops falling into the muddy water, counting them one by one.
Someone behind me asked, “Little one, what are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for my father.”
“Where did your father go?”
“He went to kill the bad guys. A mister with pretty wings and pretty eyes told me to wait for him here.”
“And this pit you’re digging?”
“The mister said that when the pit is full of water, my father will come back.”
“Silly child… that pretty mister lied to you. The water will just seep into the ground…”
“He wouldn’t lie to me! Go away! Don’t bother me!”
“Little one, can you tell me your name?”
“Michael.” I thought for a moment, then shook the little wings on my back. “Michael Arterra.”
……
……
I sat up abruptly. Everything around me was dim and gloomy, steeped in a chill that made my skin crawl. When I looked outside, the rain was pouring down in sheets, like countless tiny stones pelting the earth. I called softly, “Farthead?”
No one answered.
I felt around beside me. The bed was empty.
I called again, “Farthead, are you there?”
The wind and rain roared endlessly, thunder cracking through flashes of lightning that stung my eyes and numbed my eardrums. I got out of bed and searched the house, but there was no sign of Ruthfel anywhere. Only a bowl of hot soup and some food sat near the hearth. Just the thought of Ruthfel still having to go out in this weather, lugging a basket of groceries, sent a rush of blood surging to my throat. I bolted out the door.
The moment I stepped outside, I was soaked through to my underwear. The feeling of drenched wings was awful, like carrying a pile of wet sacks on my back.
There was nothing but the sound of rain.
The white roses lining the path had bowed under the weight of the downpour, and the green grass whipped violently.
My head was growing heavier by the minute. My legs felt like they were filled with lead, every step was torment. Maybe the fever had gotten worse. Despite the icy rain, I couldn’t feel the cold at all. My body temperature was rising so fast I didn’t even notice someone approaching.
“Isar,” a voice sneered, “you’ve been living too comfortably lately. You’ve even forgotten to come visit me in the basement. I heard from a friend in Sancta Faylia that you went to see Lord Lucifer and got rejected, didn’t you? Hahaha.”
I looked up at Caro and felt a chill crawl down my spine. “What goes on between me and Lucifer is none of your business.”
Another figure stepped in front of me.
“Oh really? I used to wonder what kind of trick you pulled to seduce him, but turns out he tossed you aside before even playing with you. You really disappoint me. Ha—hahaha—Goodness, that’s hilarious.” Caro burst out laughing, looking no better than a skeleton. Behind him were a few brawny two-winged angels—judging by their appearance and demeanor, not of high rank.
This wasn’t going to end well.
I lowered my voice. “Just say what you came to do. Stop playing games.”
“Only here to help, dear Isar.” He crooked a finger, and the men flanked him. “Been feeling feverish lately? Hot all over? Maybe even… itching down there, like you want something shoved in to relieve it?”
Rain lashed against my clothes. My body temperature suddenly plummeted. I took a step back. “What are you saying? That worm…give me the antidote!”
Caro yawned. “So sorry. I accidentally lost the antidote to the Mila worm… But don’t worry. We’ve got other ways to cure you.”
The hulking men started toward me.
Panic surged. I staggered back a few steps—then suddenly turned and bolted with everything I had.
Their footsteps pounded behind me, growing louder.
My organs felt like they were about to burst from the exertion. Breathing became almost impossible.
I staggered onto the lawn, rain pouring like a cascade, battering the crown of my head with relentless force.
My legs no longer felt like they belonged to me. The sound of footsteps behind began to fade.
A sprint became a jog. The jog slowed to a walk. The walk dwindled into a limp.
I sank to my knees, hands pressed tightly against the soaked grass, hearing nothing but the unceasing downpour.
A pair of brown leather boots came into view.
“Out of breath already? No strength left?” Caro’s mocking voice drifted down from above. “Shall we begin?”
I gathered my focus, prepared to cast a spell—but the moment a shimmer of blue light touched my crown, my mind went blank. I tried again. Nothing. The magic refused to answer.
“In your condition, it’s better not to use spells,” Caro said. “They’ll be sealed the moment you try—and might just kill you.”
Then he kicked me in the forehead.
The blow struck like a hammer. My vision lurched. Before I could even regain balance, another strike crashed into my side, sending me sprawling into the sodden earth.
My eyes burned. The world reeled.
Hands gripped my legs and dragged me backward across the ground. I clawed at the grass, but the strength behind me was overwhelming. My fingernails tore, snapping like splinters into raw skin. The blades of grass sliced me open, and rain washed away the blood as soon as it surfaced.
I tried to pull my legs free, managed to lift them, but they were slammed down again. I couldn’t move.
My pants were ripped apart.
Amid the roaring rain, the sound of tearing fabric was alarmingly crisp.
Then, the shredded pieces were yanked downward.
I clamped my legs together. My eyes flew wide.
Two men seized my limbs, forcing them apart. Rainwater surged between them, stinging the most tender parts of me. I rolled over and drove a punch into one man’s jaw.
He let out a grunt and stumbled back, clutching his mouth. A moment later, he spat a bloodied tooth into the mud.
I lashed out again, striking another square in the face—but he caught my arm. I used the opening to lurch to my feet, but I didn’t make it far. I was yanked down again, hands and feet bound by brute strength. Fists slammed into me—one, two, hard enough to rattle my spine.
I coughed blood and glared up at Caro. “Touch me again and I’ll end you.”
Caro shivered dramatically. “Ooh, I’m terrified. But I think I’ll go ahead anyway. What do you think? That I’d be as naïve as last time? Let you crawl back from this? No—I’ll let them tear you apart and toss the pieces. Let’s see you recover from that. Hahaha!”
Hands hoisted my waist. I writhed, shrinking back. “Get off me! I’ll kill anyone who lays a hand on me!”
“Hold on,” Caro said lazily, planting his feet wide and squatting down, pointing at himself. “Let him crawl through me first.”
He motioned to the others.
I was shoved downward, my face forced into the muddy earth. The taste of soil filled my mouth.
The rain quickly washed away the mud, and damp strands of hair fell over my eyes. Someone lunged forward, pinning me down. My entire body screamed in pain, every joint and tendon straining to the point of snapping. I struggled, again and again—only to be forced down each time, harder than before.
Then, at last, a dark shadow swept overhead.
Behind me, Caro let out a shrill, grating laugh.
“Dear Isar, isn’t Lord Lucifer so very fond of you? Hmm? Then where is he now? Think of those beautiful blue eyes, weren’t they always watching over you? Isar… oh no, my poor, pitiful Isar…”
My legs were pulled apart, and behind me came the sound of fabric being dragged. They were arguing over who would go first. I had no strength left to run.
Lucifer…
Lucifer.
Something inside my chest began to dissolve, rising straight to my eyes, then stopped, suspended there.
Even at a moment like this, he was the first person I thought of. Even if he never truly liked me, even if I was just a game to him, the thought alone made me feel a little less helpless.
The first man grabbed my hair, and rain streamed into my eyes, the pain in my skull building to a deafening hum.
All I could see was the world blurring before me.
Lucifer.
We had only known each other for a short while, and yet, it felt like I had been longing for him for a hundred, a thousand years.
The chimes signaling the end of the morning council rang out, casting radiant light across the steps beyond the city of Shima. He must be stepping out of the Sanctum now, clad in fine silk, regal and composed, leading the countless children of God.
And yet, the rain in Shima had not ceased.
As someone pressed down on me, I closed my eyes.
Lucifer… Lucifer.
Calling his name, the pain seemed to vanish.
Even though I knew it was useless.
Even though I knew I would never be able to reach him, never have the right to possess him.
But as long as I called his name, I no longer felt afraid.
As long as I called his name, I felt strong. Brave.
I felt… very, very brave.
The man on top of me didn’t move for a long time.
I slowly opened my eyes—and saw him staring wide-eyed, frozen in place, unblinking and grim.
Blood began to trickle down his forehead, dripping steadily. Just before it could fall onto me, a beam of light caught it mid-air. A moment later, his body slumped backward and crashed to the ground.
And behind him, someone was standing there.
Thunder cracked. One by one, the others collapsed as well. I couldn’t even see how they were struck.
Carlo stumbled back in terror—then froze, unmoving, as if turned to stone.
The man standing not far away hadn’t shielded himself from the rain. Soaked to the bone, his drenched clothes clung to his body, outlining every inch of his perfect form. My own clothes had been torn to shreds. The feeling of being so exposed made shame burn through me. I tugged at the pieces of fabric in vain, face flushed red with humiliation:
“PISS OFF!”
He paused, then continued walking toward where I was. Finally, he knelt down in front of me, expressionless as the rain whispered around us, stealing even our breath.
Through the blurry veil of rain, Lucifer’s voice came in fragments.
“No matter what happens… no matter if we’re separated… even if you want to kill me… I won’t let go again.”
I punched him square in the face.
“Go say that to someone else! Just because I don’t have your rank and power doesn’t mean I’m worthless! Think you can just use me like some toy—try again in your next life! PISS OFF!”
Lucifer didn’t dodge. Rain streamed down his cheeks, like tears.
“I never wanted to use you, not once.”
Seeing him like that… I probably felt a hundred times worse than he did. But I held my ground, trying to claw back my last scrap of dignity. I didn’t want him saying anything more that might sway me. My voice steadied:
“Your Highness, you don’t need to feel guilty. I’ve already let go. Please leave.”
There were still things I hadn’t said when he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace.
“Isar, I’m absolutely not leaving again. Let’s stay together—Let’s never be apart, is that alright with you?”
It felt like the blood in every one of my vessels stopped flowing. My lips trembled. “Wh-what kind of joke is that?”
He gently stroked my feathers. “I gave up too easily. It was my fault… I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll treat you ten times, a hundred times better. I’ll make you forget all the pain. I’ll give you every ounce of happiness. From now on, no one can separate us. No one.”
Even if it was a lie.
Even if this fleeting confession was followed by mockery, I couldn’t help it anymore. I threw my arms around him, holding on as tightly as I could.
Lucifer trembled, inhaling deeply. His voice shook. “I love you.”
He held me close, not leaving even the smallest gap between us. His kiss fell on my lips as gently as raindrops, his eyes rimmed with red. “I will always love you.”
I cradled his face, my voice breaking completely. “Me too.”
And then he leaned in, his lips covering mine.
The wind passed.
The rain stopped.
White rose petals blanketed the earth.
Author: Tav Tav
Translating
The Right Wing of God, the one seated at the right hand of the Most High.
