Lucifers Lost Angel

Chapter Four | A Fear Of Being A Fallen

My alarm turns on, my hands swing out of the bed covers as I slam the top of the arm of after patting the bedside table. I groan, groaning because here I was, having to get ready for school. I slid out of the bed and tumbled into the bathroom, the moment I finished I glanced at the mirror turning around to get my outfit before I froze. I froze in my place. 

I slowly turned my head, I noticed two small bumps on my back. I screamed in happiness as I jumped up and down. I am growing the wings! I am growing them. I slowly grazed it, squeezing at every touch. The rush of excitement through my veins.  

This was a moment to be thankful for, normally if you were a late grower then people would downgrade you. Maybe like how Angels downgraded Lucifer. Did I think it was fair to how they have treated him? No, I didn't. I knew that as any Angel, if one needs help then the other should help. him or her. But I guess, they just never liked Lucifer and for a reason I have no idea of.  

He mentioned it was his pride, it was his pride that got in the way. But the way he presented himself, as such not a man of his saying. He sounded peaceful. he sounded kind and the love he had for the woman was amazing. She was just rude, rude for not giving him a chance but on the other hand. Lucifer still had not made his move then. So, there was no blaming needed. I understood her completely. If Lucifer was not shy then maybe something could have worked out for him. 

Back to my wings, I wanted to know what colour I was going to have. Blue, orange, red, pink or maybe even White. Maybe God would have chosen to me to be worthy enough for his work. Maybe I could help him. Be a messenger of some sort. 

But would I want to? After I found out how they have treated Lucifer. Would I want to go through the same? Lucifer never deserved anything thrown onto him. He asked for help, as any Angel we should have helped him. No matter how bad, that was our job, that was our deed, that was our name. He asked, no one helped. 

Was it because he was a late grower as myself?  I jump up and down before I slip and fall right onto them.  

 I gasped the sudden pain, before noticing what I slipped on. It was a paper. I exhaled some of the pain, releasing my anger onto that as I sit up properly, my hands extending to grab too the piece of scrunched paper. As I un-scrunched it, my eyes widened at the sight.  

The Map to Hell! 

I immediately stood up. To get to hell, I had to make some sort of portal after I grew my wings. Then after I make the portal, I have to go through steps of my fears. If I don't make it through then I die, if I do then I live and enter hell. There was a possibility that my wings would burn off. Was I willing to take that possibility? And how far? 

I fold the paper and hide it underneath my pillow, getting dressed into my attire I walk towards my grandmother's room. The mixture I arrived, the same doctor from yesterday came out. He sighs whispering things to my mother. Then he left, my mother wipes underneath her eyes before she spots me. 

"Mother? What is going on?" I whispered, she tried to act unfazed. But it would not work with me. Not at all.  She gives me a small smile, her legs scurrying towards me. Her brown eyes attach my own, her hands slip onto my cheeks before kissing my forehead.    

"Grandma, isn't feeling well...you should spend as much time with her. I need to go work." I could not have said a thing, because within a minute she left the room. She left. Her mother is ill and yet she still left. I would have stayed for her, day, night and evening. Yet work was obviously, or clearly more important. I pushed the door open, noticing my grandma lying in the bed. 

The way she looked, she looked as if she was tired. As if she could not bare living anymore. "Come child, come I have a few things to talk to you about." I slowly, walk towards her. Her hands attach to my own as she pulls me down onto the bed. I sat beside her. Her green eyes sparkling. Her eyes were the hue of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. 

 There were flecks of strength, of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances. And they were never more beautiful than when she cried, when her gentleness flowed over her cheeks, nor when she became the wise woman we came to depend on, decorated with laughter lines. Yet the soul and the eyes are ageless, and to me, so was she. 

"Lucifer. Help him. He is not a Devil inside; he is an Angel. He has been treated wrong and the hate he has received from everyone. Listen to me. I know you have been studying about him but whatever you have read, if you do meet him one day. Do not believe it. Lucifer was a kind, cool and had the biggest heart of everyone here. He did not deserve what has been approached to him." She then points to the box, the box onto the floor. I took the hit to bring it to her and I did so. She opens the lid rummaging through her things before she picks out a beautiful blue necklace stone.  

"This was given to me by someone very special, if you do go to hell. Wear it, or wear it now." I push my hair to the side; she wraps it around my neck and looks into my eyes. The way she did so made me feel emotions, emotions of sadness. Emotions of love, guilt...Her hands sided down my cheeks before her forehead rested onto my own. The greys of her hair tingling my neck. 

"Grandmother-" 

"Artemis, you are the only one that can help him. Trust my words. We can end hell; we can remove the deal and make him into the Angel he once was before. He may have walls; he may be rude and discouraging but look past it and help. That’s all he has ever wanted. To be helped."  

"But why me? We have hundreds of other Angels." I murmured, playing with the hem of my White dress. She shakes her head, disagreeing with what I have said. She clearly wanted me to help him. But, how could I? There was no chance. 

"No, those are not Angels. Those are brainwashed, the real meaning of being an Angel is you. You are kind, forgiving, harmless, beautiful and courageous. Angels mere to be like you, you are just what Lucifer needs. He needs a friend. He is all alone down there. He has been and I have been waiting for nineteen years to tell you."  

"Grandmother, I cannot help him. I do not even know how to arrive in hell let alone help." 

"Ahh, but you do. You most certainly do.  Once your wings have grown, once they have full developed. Go, go and open yourself a portal-" 

"But how do I open a portal?" 

"Using your wings, your wings will be you best friend once they have grown. It will help you, all you must do is believe. Believe in them. Once the portal is open, you have to go down the steps of your fears. Succeed in that then you will arrive in hell." 

"But I have no fears," 

"It could be anything, from sadness or to being alone." 

"But-" 

"I know you are scared; I completely understand. But that is why you should be going, you are brave." My grandmother whispers. I bite hard onto my lips. Thinking. Thinking if it was worth going down. Thinking if it was worth the risks.  

"But my wings might burn off..." 

"But God can grow them back for you again, your intentions are good." I sighed, the stone slowly sparkling underneath my chin as I picked it up slowly. I took a long look at it, as if it would give me answers. If I was in Lucifer's position, I would want someone to help me. But what if he doesn't want the help, I am willing to provide?  

 What if he was happy the way he was? I noticed my grandmother fast asleep. I chuckle before raising the blanket over her body. Then I walked towards the window, the windows of the house both reflect and absorb the sunny rays, and in that they sparkle and take on the lively shadows of the leaves. I slowly held onto the curtain, removing it as my glance took over at my grandmother bakery right opposite us. The children running freely, the children dancing, playing and fighting.  

Something everyone should experience. I promised myself to not read any more books about Lucifer. I promised myself that I would think of him as a good man, if I do see him, we shall see my perspective. But my heart, my heart contains the butterflies every minute I think of his name. How did he look like? How did he talk? The questions, the questions were exhausting my own brain. I then closed the curtains and walked away, walked away from my grandmother as I settled onto the bed in my room lifting his diary. 

21 June 1769, 

Another day has passed by and God still has not redeemed my punishment. Why was I promised such fate? What did I do to deserve this? I have never hurt a single soul in my life, though my feeling itself were enough to hurt hundreds of other. Someone, just someone. All I need was someone to help me but clearly, I was not worthy enough for any one of them. 

I guess, as time passes by, all you know about yourself is that being lonely was not as bad. I enjoyed my own company but I wanted children. A wife. I wanted a family. A family. The word itself gives me the chills. Of something I may never have. 

So instead of daydreaming such things. I had to be ready for my punishment. Punishment for feelings.  

I shut the diary, laying down onto the bed as I stared up at the ceiling. The stone in my hands, fiddling with by my fingers. Maybe. Maybe my grandmother was right. Maybe I should go and help him. But I did have a fear. 

A fear of being one of the fallen. 

A fear of being used. 

A fear of not being able to help. 

A fear of not coming back. 

A fear of falling.