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382 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 7, 2022
"I daydream of you, of loving you."
"How do you love me?"
"Like this."
”What was that? What we were doing?”
“Sin.”
“What’s sin?”
“I created it. Do you like it?”
”Are you sure it’s safe?”
What was he supposed to say? ‘Michael, you see, I’m terribly ashamed of my body, so much so that it’s transferred to being ashamed of all bodies.’
“Of course it is. Is something wrong, Lucifer?”
He didn’t want Michael to think badly of him.
”But I thought ‘How terribly lonely that must be, to be so beautiful that others think of you a thorn. And how worse it must be to think that of yourself.”
He opened you like a mandarin and planted a garden of budding flowers inside. He weaved your hair, I think, from the streaks of three bursting stars, and your wings out of four wandering crescent moons. Your hips came from the tides of a sea, and then He carved your hands and feet from marble and pearls. I watched Him breathe life into you, then cradle you as if you were His first angel.
A neck tenderly held a head with plump, cherry pink lips and wide, blameless eyes cradled by long lashes; he held the blaze of all the stars in his face. All his skin was silk smooth and kissed tan as copper, he was clouded by wisps of muted flaxen hair that tumbled past his shoulders, and he was graced with various jewelry of every gem, more than the walls of the city.
There were sweet dips to his body, soft curves and edges all where they ought to be, and the smoothness with which he moved — it was utterly unbearable. The angel was so beautiful it ached him in the chest.
“In vain, I love you; in vain, the dawn streaming onto you, beside me; in vain, I want to be yours, your angel. Angel of love, angel of Michael.”
‘I feel aged. I feel as if you’ve aged me with your own hands, Michael. Ripened me, like a red fruit, at the edge of a branch, hanging at it’s peak. Beautiful—and just about to fall.’
“We could do it, everything could be ours—the most perfect of the host. I want to make new things with you, build something bigger than this mirage of eternal pleasure. Haven’t you ever wondered why Father is so strict about out subservience? It’s because disobedience is creation,” a shivering breath, “create with me, Michael, and let’s call it sin.”