Dove Caught in a Burning Bush

A certain charm belonged to places like the palace's library once the sun had gone down.

Pale alabaster walls slipped into warm greys or else glowed soft amber with light from the fireplace. From outside, the moon would contrast that by reaching through windows with sterling fingers of light to draw chilled lines down the stone. The already hushed atmosphere settled deeper as if finally having fallen completely into slumber, leaving only a still and utter peace.

From outside came the only sound besides crackling from the stony fireplace and turning of pages in the form of gentle whispers of stardust brushing down the edges of the building.

Crucifel sat in silence at one of the sturdy wooden tables scattered throughout the library, a finger idly tracing familiar swirls in the wood grain as she studied the tome splayed open before her. Lit candles at the table's center illuminated the pages, and occasionally she would curve that tracing finger to bring the flames higher in order to scrutinize a section more closely.

The prophetess' brow furrowed slightly as she scanned through the highly redacted text, feeling the frustration begin to mount as each time she thought that she was on the right path, it only led to carefully blotted or else entirely torn away pages. Even when she held up the pages to the light, careful to avoid the parchment catching flame, nothing could be revealed through the murky ink that smeared out anything from single words to entire passages. It was maddening, each dead end and door being shut in her face.

She glanced at the small pile of thoroughly exhausted books and scrolls to the side, biting back the rising unease in her gut. How was she supposed to learn anything if every little scrap of information beyond the surface level was dashed into obscurity? Peaceful, cozy surroundings or not, Crucifel could feel her mood beginning to fray. Why had he done this when the information could mean such a difference to those who might need it?

"Researching new torture methods for when you get sick enough of me to gain a taste for blood?"

Crucifel sighed, her wings flicking in irritation against her back as she closed the tome and turned to look over her shoulder at her brother. "No, but it sounds like a very interesting vein of research," she replied flatly. "I think I might just have to look into it later."

"Mm, maybe you should," Promethiel said, moving forward to lean down onto his elbows on the table beside Crucifel, reaching over to brush a strand of snowy hair from her face. "What has you looking so frustrated so late in the evening? Some light reading?"

"Nothing," Crucifel replied, moving to lift her hand and swat his away, only for him to catch her wrist in a grip that was both gentle and firm all at once. Insistent, that was the word she was feeling pressed to her skin.

"Is that right? Nothing at all?" he asked, leaning closer and lowering his voice, eyes glowing in the candlelight as he met her citrine gaze.

"Nothing of interest to you," Crucifel hissed softly, resisting the urge to pull out of his grip as she stared him down through the amber gloom. "Shouldn't His Majesty be sleeping instead of lurking around in the shadows like a prowling wolf?"

"And yet, here you are. Hiding away in the library, reading from a fine selection of Father's old, restricted books about the fallen," Promethiel replied, ignoring her return question without so much as a flicker of acknowledgement. "That sounds interesting to me. Care to share what you've found?"

He genuinely did know how best to ruffle her feathers, didn't he? Crucifel resisted the urge to bite his hand holding her wrist, knowing that she was above that, for the time being, and that her perverse brother would find the sting of her teeth far more enjoyable than punishing. She settled for glaring at him instead, trying to ignore the way her stomach began to twist into bitter knots with each passing second that their skin touched.

"They're not the most pleasant topic of conversation, but these lost souls make an interesting study. What I can find at least," Crucifel finally replied, shoving aside the worst of her resentment with a long sigh. What could he do, punish her for looking at blotted pages where only common facts remained? The redactions were the work of their father, not his, and even if he did take issue with her snooping, he hardly had the right to forbid it. "Why even have these in the restricted section if they've already been watered down so thoroughly?!"

"I've always found the fallen rather fascinating. There's something very... Undeniable about them. You can almost feel the distrust radiating out from the words remaining, like the author can barely stand to depict them," Promethiel hummed sympathetically as he rubbed circles on her wrist with his thumb, reaching with his other hand to tickle her chin. "Don't you think that perhaps it's because of that flagrant censorship that they are shelved where they are? To avoid questions like 'why'?"

Crucifel leaned her chin away from his touch as if he were pointing a knife to her jaw, glancing down at the offending finger and then back to her brother. "I don't think I like what you're implying," she said stiffly, leaning further away from him and putting more effort into her subtle attempts to jerk her wrist from his grasp. "I'm sure he had his reasons, he and Mother both. I just have to work harder to find the information that I'm seeking. And you of all beings have no ground to stand on for hiding things."

A dry laugh spilled from Promethiel's lips, and he tilted his head with a conceding roll of his shoulders. "I have no defense there, Dear. But I do have curiosity, why so intent on this? Why the urgency?"

"I want to save your soul, Promethiel, before it's too late for you!" Crucifel snapped, unable to fight the tremor that went through her voice and body alike. "How we talk about the fallen, as if they're some kind of mindless beasts and not beings that were once angels like us, it feels unfair. I don't want that to happen to you, no matter how terrible you've been."

He was silent for a moment, still holding fast to her wrist, fingers pressing in with a gentleness that would have felt almost like a caress if not for the solidity of his grip. The corner of his mouth twitched, and a wan smile curved his lips for a brief moment before twisting it into something with more heat.

"Absolutely fascinating," Promethiel breathed at last, kissing her wrist softly. "It's so easy to forget that there's more than sin in their hearts, isn't there? To think that you'd even want to save me after everything, you're too sweet."

Crucifel watched him, revulsion lighting her yellow gaze as he pressed his lips to her knuckles with tender, amorous kisses. He might have been an angel, but there was nothing holy about the way his tongue darted to playfully slide over the knuckle of her middle finger, nor was the shiver that went up her spine. "If you keep this up, you'll fall too, Promethiel. You'll be just like them."

"Maybe I want to," Promethiel replied, his voice a dark rasp. "But who is to say I will? No one is watching us anymore, Crucifel, and I don't just mean our parents."

Crucifel moved to stand, wings unfurling to rise up behind her and bristle and the hand not in her sibling's grip raised, ready to strike with claws extended. "You're sick. Sick and blasphemous. I am trying to help you!"

He smiled, gilded eyes glinting in the firelight as he looked up at her looming form. "And this sick blasphemer thinks you're the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen."

A shiver ran through Crucifel and the hand she'd raised to strike him with swung down only for that wrist to be snagged as well, her brother pulling her into an embrace.

"You know, there was a time when I would have never thought to hear such cruel words from your lips," Promethiel cooed.

"A time when you were sane," Crucifel hissed while pushing back against him, clenching her jaw when he squeezed her wrists playfully. As she tried to dislodge his grip, Promethiel laughed, straightening up to stand with her and spin them away from the table, leading her into a forced waltz between the towering bookshelves.

"I can assure you that I am very sane, dear Sister," he replied, whirling with her in the firelight before suddenly letting Crucifel go into a spin of her own.

She caught herself on the edge of a shelf before twisting her body to sway away as he sought her again with an outstretched hand, begrudgingly joining his possessive dance as they circled around each other. Promethiel's voice was an amused purr as he continued, "I'm just tired of ill-fitting chains."

It wasn't long before he caught her again, pulling the other angel close to his chest as she tensed but stiffly allowed him to lead their movement once more. "Why are you acting this way? Why torment me?" She demanded in a hushed tone, yellow eyes searching Promethiel's face. "This isn't like you, Promethiel. You're a mischief maker, but none of this is a joke."

"Because I adore you, troublesome and stubborn as you can be," he replied, his grip tightening on her. "Have you considered that I enjoy playing this game with you? Teasing you, torturing you. It's like I'm a young heir again, realizing just how much power I would one day hold in my hands, but now it's finally happened."

"You're acting like a beast," Crucifel warned, trying to pry his fingers off her wrists while digging her heels in to force them to a stop.

"And this beast hungers for you," He sighed, kissing up her jawline as she twisted her head away from his touch.

Crucifel tore away from him as if she'd been burned, lashing forward to slap her brother across the face with a loud 'crack!' of open palm hitting cheek.

"Do not touch me, Promethiel!"

Crucifel's dual pairs of wings bowed and spread in a defensive bristle, the feathers fluffing out to make them appear larger. Her eyes were alight with flame, cheeks flushed a deep rose that crept up her neck. "I won't strike you down, but I am begging you to get a hold of yourself. You're embarrassing both us and our parents' memory!"

Her heart was hammering in her chest as if it meant to break through her ribs and be heard even by her brother, who was watching her without so much as a frown for her harsh rejection. Crucifel had just slapped a king, an Archangel. But as Promethiel rubbed his struck cheek, he was smiling as he looked back at her. "That's quite the lovely expression of wrath, dear Crucifel. Thank you. I'll leave you be, the night is growing late and tomorrow is a busy day."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her wings lashing in warning and causing the nearby wall sconces to flicker. "I pray you cure yourself of this immoral behavior, Promethiel."

He grinned, exhaling golden stardust in her direction as he blew her a kiss. "Sleep well, My Heart."

Crucifel glowered at him, watching as he slipped from sight and into the shadows, followed by the sound of the library doors closing shut.

She made her way back over to sit back down in her chair, resting her forehead against the cool wooden surface of the table. Promethiel had always been a bit strange, but lately he'd become something more than just that. It was almost malicious. His words regarding becoming king and feeling like a child again with his newfound power rang disturbingly true.

If he decided to fully see her as a threat to his rule and became hostile, she felt oddly enough that she would have been able to handle that better. But this...this vulgar, perverse haunting of her was beyond her comprehension. She couldn't imagine what kind of mindset he was in, nor did she want to find out. It was honestly better if she never knew the depths of it, if only because she didn't think she would be able to stand the truth.

What she did know was that the rest of the kingdom assumed that their parents were dead to the increasingly bold demonic threat gathering at the edges of their paradise, and that she knew her brother was a murderer.

This went hand in disturbing hand with the fact that for the time being, she could do nothing about it without shattering the hearts of an already ragged populace.

Their king and queen, her and Promethiel's parents, had reigned since the first Martyrcost transfiguration when her Mother's mother led the way into the Seal's creation. Her parents had watched over their beings and guided them, kept their hopes of one day reuniting with their absent Creator alive and done their best to keep them safe. Two great pillars of hope for the people of Edenara, crumbled.

So long as Promethiel kept the pledge he had made to her the night that she found him splashed in golden ichor, eyes flaming with terrible purpose, that he would protect Edenara with his life, she would stay her voice.

For now.

Lord in lost Heaven, she was a coward when it was the least convenient, wasn't she?

An acrid, smoky scent hung heavy in the air as Crucifel stirred awake in the dark of her chambers.

It stung her eyes as they adjusted to the darkness, forcing her to squint before lighting her gaze with a warm inner glow. Her yellow eyes flared to life right as a sudden wave of malevolence washed over her that left the angel breathless.

Whatever was giving off such a physical aura of malice was not supposed to be here. Whatever it was, this was not something permitted to exist within the walls of Edenara. She knew it couldn't be Promethiel. He would never be so bold as to come into her room while she was asleep, even in his madness he hadn't gone so far as to intrude upon the privacy of her personal chambers without permission.

Her glowing eyes helped Crucifel adjust to the dim light of the moon through her window, revealing the shadowy outline of a figure sitting at the edge of her bed.

Anger rose in her chest as she at first assumed that it was, in fact, Promethiel. That he'd finally crossed one of the last few precious boundaries that she had left in order to come watch her sleep or whatever else sick game he was playing. But no, it wasn't Promethiel. The princess's yellow gaze traced the sloping moonlit curve of horns atop the figure's head, and in combination with the scent of brimstone, she finally realized just what sat at the edge of her bed.

A demon.

Crucifel's wings struggled to snap open as she moved to lurch upright, but her body was frozen in place as if a layer of stone coated her skin. She could barely even speak, tongue feeling heavy and thick as her mind raced with confusion and fear.

"Incubus," she hissed, trying to force her straining vocal chords to work as the demon leaned over her.

"Such quick identification, aren't you a clever little angel?" The demon cocked its head, smiling down at her with a mouth full of spindly fangs that were quickly working to reconfigure themselves back into a docile, blunted shape, with the exception of his canines. "I knew this room would have something of quality waiting for me."

She narrowed her eyes, hands slowly clenching into fists through sheer effort as her sides. "How did...you get in here?"

The incubus glanced at the open window that she hadn't thought to latch, raising an unimpressed brow. "You and your kind have gotten cozy in here, haven't you? But, I'm glad you welcomed me so openly, it's been quite some time since I last had such a sumptuous meal as yourself."

Her stomach churned at the mention of feeding, she knew exactly how incubi fed and the thought of this creature touching her made her feel ill. How had he even gotten this close without alerting any guards? There was a patrol that swept the palace grounds throughout the night, surely they would have heard or seen something and put up an alarm.

"I am...princess and Prophetess of Edenara. If you lay a single claw on me, I'll...tear you limb from limb," Crucifel breathed, feeling the invisible hold on her throat tighten from within to stifle her voice.

The demon rolled his icy blue eyes, the movement making them reflect like mirrors in the low light as he reached down to caress her cheek with a claw. "I don't think you will, no."

Crucifel shuddered as he traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, her anger growing with every passing moment their skin made contact. "Stop. Stop touching me!" She growled, voice cracking as she forced her words past the ache of her restricting vocal cords.

He blew an amused puff of hot breath across her face, filling her lungs with the scent of a thing both damp and burned, like within the incubus a fire had been doused and the coals left to molder in the dark. Something about it made the hairs on the back of her neck raise instinctually, as if her divinity recognized the lack of his own. "Let us see what we're working with, Princess Prophetess."

A single razor-like claw dragged down the front of her sleeping gown, snagging on the hem before a bit of extra applied pressure allowed it to slide through the thin material like a pair of fabric scissors in one long swipe. Crucifel bit down hard on her lip, stifling a cry as his hand bunched the fabric into the demon's palm before tearing it away from her body and cupping her breast.

"Nice. Very nice, and such fine, soft skin," he hissed, rolling her nipple between his clawed fingers. "You're a pretty thing, aren't you? Those wings of yours would make for a soft cloak, too."

Ivory feathers bristled and flattened like a rolling wave with each rotation of his fingers, Crucifel's nails flexing into claws of her own that still hung uselessly at her sides while her guts tightened in repulsed anger. The incubus was not at all gentle with his touch, pinching her nipple hard enough that she didn't need to see but could feel the bud turn from pink to white as the blood was forced back from it.

Fangs snapped together in a sneer close to her face, making Crucifel flinch as his free hand trailed a claw down her ribs to her thigh. "So responsive, and even better." He pressed his nose to her neck, inhaling deeply as her long hair tickled his nose. "Unspoiled, untouched. You could keep me fed for a long while, Princess."

She felt her body growing hotter as her skin flushed, every nerve screaming alive with a mixture of fury and induced arousal that was beginning to make Crucifel's head hurt. The angel's lips parted in a soft groan while her heart thrashed wildly in her chest, unable to deny the urge to press against him as if each locked limb was being puppeteered.

To say that she was being led on a string wasn't incorrect, though. The bite of an incubus or a demon in the same family often had something of an aphrodisiac effect among other infernal properties. And now that Crucifel was actually feeling the effects of it for the first time, the invasive lust was stifling. It was like every hushed and hidden away desire was being pulled from her depths to the surface, her shame struggling to keep up with weights at its ankles. She felt filthy under his touch.

"Go back...to...Hell," she managed to shudder out between labored breaths, the words barely audible as she tried to get her mind back into some sort of working order.

"You've got a lot of bark for a bitch with no fangs, why don't you lie back and let me enjoy this meal?" The demon taunted with another twist of her nipple, moving the hand at her hip to stroke the tips of his claws up and down her inner thigh. They slid closer to her center to tease at a different sort of sensitive bud, pushing it from side to side. Crucifel produced a sound between a strangled snarl and a moan, the lean muscle in her thighs twitching beneath his foul touch.

Her hips struggled to break the paralysis and tilt her vulnerability away from his hand. The demonic venom in her veins surged uncomfortably, urging the prophetess to spread her legs further with a sensation like insects beneath her flesh, and she spat at his leering face.