Lucifers Lost Angel

Chapter Five | A Fear Of Taking A Risk

They once say, that taking the risk is better than leaving yourself with regret. And here I was, suffocating underneath my own regret. Here I was, staring at my grandmother death bed. She was worse, every day. My best friend, my second mother was in so much pain. We had to make a decision. One that could affect us all. My mother was grasping her hand whilst I was leaning against the door. Scared, that if I leave this room once then she would pass away. Was I able to handle that? 

The tears, the tears that left my mother's eyes was undesirable, I wanted to cry. I did, but I knew that this was going to be good for her. To leave this world once and for all. She deserves nothing but peace. And peace will come for her. She has been nothing but an amazing woman. 

Strong, courageous. I looked up to her as much as I did to my mother. She was the woman who took those risks. She was known around everywhere. She knows everything. She knows me. She knows that I can do this, that I can stop hell and remove it, that everyone deserves forgiveness. That everyone deserves a helping hand no matter what they have been accused of. That I shall do for her. 

I will help Lucifer. I will find him and get him back to heaven. I will do everything in my power to help him back to his family. No matter what makes of me. Because everyone deserves help. Everyone deserves a friend. My mother taps my shoulder, giving me a sad look again before leaving the room.  

I then took the final initiative and started walking. I walked towards her, settling on the chair besides her bed. She held my hands, squeezing it with much little power. "Artemis, you know what your name stands for?" She whispers. I shook my head as she began slowly sitting up. "It stands for the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, the Moon and chastity." 

 "Your father named you that." My father, my father was unknown. After leaving me with my mother when I was only five years old. I have never heard of him nor seen him in my life. I took the liberty of asking around, screaming my father's name over and over again but he never once answered. 

"My father? I know nothing of my father, my father has not once come back. Was his work more important than his own daughter?" I asked, confused.  

He never once came back as I sat behind the window day and night, waiting for him to come back. Waiting for him to come back from where ever he flew off to. I remember looking for him in the woods, in the shops. Sticking photos go himself and asking around. Everyone saw me a fatherless child. Because I was that. Fatherless. 

My mother? My mother has not spoken once about him, as if the memory of my father has left this household forever. But could I judge him for that? Because he decided not to stay with his own family. Because he decided to pick up and leave because of a job. A job caused him to do that, what was more important than his own daughter. I have never even felt what having a father was like.  

He was not her hot scare of my date to Angel house; he was not here to shout at my boyfriend or beat up my boyfriend for breaking my heart. He was not here to teach me how to be a strong woman, he was not here how to teach me to fight, to read, to write. He was not here to teach me how to ride a bike, or how to fly, he was not here to give me my first book. My birthdays? What were they? I never once celebrated my birthday because it was simply forgotten. I wanted my father there.  

But as I said, I merely did not know the man. I knew nothing of him, I barely knew his name. My own father name was a mystery, that man was a mystery to me. I knew only him to be my father. I knew that I received my blue eyes from him along with my golden-brown hair. Those were the only things that reminded me that I do have a father. Except for anything else.  

The days I sat at the top of the stairs, waiting for him to come back to me, waiting for him to say 'I miss you' or 'I am back from work' those words were never heard in this house hold. Photos, my mother hid every single one of them let alone him. He was nothing to me. Nothing except for a mystery. At times I did think if he even loved me. Because who would leave their daughters, alone in this world. "Your father loves you very much, no matter what was on top he never once forgotten about you. But there is something that are not mine to be said. Except for, he did not have a choice and if he did then he-" She took a breather and started coughing. 

"He knew you were strong; he knew you were going to be nothing than his own Angel. Your father is a good man. But as I said before. This is not my story to tell-" That cough, sounded too dry for my liking. I stood up, grabbing her some water before handing it over to her. Helping her drink. She would not stop coughing.  

"Grandmother?" I shouted for my mother to come, my grandma held my hand in her own, forcing me to stare into her green eyes. They say green is the strongest colour because it ignites the new season after the passing of wintry days, and in that her eyes were born strong, the green hue reminding us of sunshine and floral blooms.  

"Promise me, promise me that you will be forever strong, kind, loving, courageous, brave and forgiving. Promise me that no matter who hurts you, because in this world. In the retched world, no one is an Angel. But you have to promise me-" 

"Grandmother no, I don't need to promise you because you will be here to see me accomplish those things." She shakes her head, her eyes that once shone the light in the forest slowly closing.  

"Help him...because as much as you do not want to admit. You both are alike. You are the Angel to his Devil." She slowly grazes the tears away from my cheeks, her hands then leading to the necklace on my neck. "You are the Angel to his heart and you can free him from the underworld. Only you can." My mother barges in the room, the moment I turn to her I hear a soft thud against the pillow. There her hands slip away from my necklace.  

"Grandmother-Grand, please wake up. Wake up, wake up you cannot leave me." I whispered, shaking her slightly. "You cannot leave me like this, please wake up! Wake up!" I feel my mother's hands pull me away from her body, her body that was slowly turning into a crystal White colour. I screamed, screamed from losing someone closer to me. My mother held me back from running towards her. Then, her wings covered her body. "No, she is not ready yet, she has me! She cannot leave me." I shouted, her wings slowly lifting her up. Before she vanishes. My mother drops me as I rush towards her bed, seeing her no longer there. 

I lifted the covers, mother always said I loved like a hurricane. She was right. When she passed, I cried with more violence than any gale. Not to have her right there was a torture to my soul. I didn't break quietly, it was like every atom of my being screamed in unison, traumatised that I should exist without her.  

When the wracking sobs passed, I cried in such a desolate way that no-one could bare to listen for long. I had gone from gregarious to hanging by a thread, a transformation no-one knew how to reverse. I knew what I must do. I pushed my mother away and rushed to my room, ripping of my clothes. I closed my eyes. Closed them with every effort I could. Believing.  

I open them, looking into the mirror before me my eyes widen. The when so much at the sight in front of me. I could not believe my eyes. I could not trust them as I saw my wings. The beauty of them along with the confusion. Two colours. One White and the other Black. It was the white of a freshly turning page under the clearest of blue skies. It was the kind of white summer clouds radiate; the kind that raises the eyes heavenward. 

It was the white of lace topped waves upon a bonny wind-graced day. It was the white of new-born daisy petals. And yet the other. Was black. It was a strong black, deeply soulful in the way all absolute things are. It was the sort of black that brought the silent music of the universe so deeply within one's core. The black let my beauty radiate from within. It was as if for the first time I could feel my edges, my skin, as the if were the boundaries of the heaven I contain within. 

My hands, my hands slowly grazed the beautiful feathers of it. My eyes, my eyes were shocked. Could I believe what I was seeing. Black wings? A colour that was not known to be possible. I closed my eyes, removing the wings form my sight. And as I did, I walked towards the books of wings. Grabbing the one of colour coordination. 

My fingers flicked through pages, before I stop at one. The mixed wings. 

The mixed wig was the rarest thing in the entire of heaven. Mixed wings symbolised the strongest power, that only the Angel could hold. It was not known to have since the god named Zeus. He was the only man to ever have them. My hands shook as my eyes scanned the sentence. The black wing, symbolised the mating of a Devil to be rid of the colour, I must seem to kiss a Devil from the underground world in less than a month before both my wings die and can never be returned. I slammed the book closed.  

'You are the Angel to his Devil." I repeated the words of my grandmother. That is when, I grabbed a duffle bag, shoving in as much stuff I must need. From clothes, to canned food, to his diary and the map to hell. I tied my hair, slipping on another White dress before I look around the house. Hearing footsteps leaving. The door slammed closed and I took this as my initiative to leave. I rushed into my grandmother's room. Closing the door behind me as I whisper my goodbyes.  

The hardest thing to ever have, was to let go of my grandmother. But I knew, I knew she would want me to do this. To help the Devil and I promised I would. I am forever going to uphold that. Writing a small note to my mother of what I am doing, I leave it onto the front of my door.  I noticed her favourite hair clips, slipped it around my hair before leaving the house. 

I ran, ran past the people who were laughing, playing or talking. Ran past my school and into the woods. In this forest I am with my tribe of wood and leaf, among the giants whose roots hug the earth. It is a place of ancient souls, of the creatures who dwell with the sweet sounds of moving water and bird song. Somehow this is more home than home, perhaps one day I'll learn why. 

Upon the forest floor lie trees of yesteryear, fallen in storms long forgotten. The seasons have been harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers, yet rendering them all the more beautiful. They have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that remind Sarah of seaside waves; even the colour of the moss is kelp-like.  

That is when I arrive in the middle of the woods. It was time.