The Archangel
Have you ever heard the story of the Archangel Michael? Every tongue has a different name for him—Michel, Mikhail, Mihály, Miguel.
He was anointed by God Himself, the protector of all peoples. But he fell, the furthest any angel ever did.
You see, he slaughtered a billion souls. And his punishment—an eternity choking on their blood.
There was a slip of a girl, once. Destined in every lifetime to fall. Doomed to a broken neck at the age of 20.
So the fallen archangel made a deal—his immortal life severed, so she could live out hers.
He’s no angel now. Just a man, still drowning in blood. And with every breath, growing older. Closer and closer to dust.
But she lives.
How’s your conscience these days? the phantom perched on his shoulder asks, sometimes.
Because of her?
Clearer.