Stories Unwritten

I thought I told you to go away already.

A bedtime story? Fine. As long as you’re not asking about them.

I’ll tell you about the Archangel Creya. The one that was forced to wield the double swords. The Judgement of the Gods and the Judgement of Hell. Tragic? Not really.

Hey, you’re not going to cry for her are you? If so, I’m not saying another word.

Why is she carrying both swords? There’s too much blood in this story for a little guy like you.

You’re seventeen? Gee, you don’t look it.

Oh right. The modifications.

Back to the story? Oh all right, if you insist.

The wielding of the two swords was a burden for her. In a way, her blessings became her curse.

Yes, she was in love.

Oh right. Not this again. You really can’t comprehend the sentiment known as love? Then I really don’t want to explain it. It’s hard, really.

Who was she in love with? That’s a good question.

Both the archangels and the fallen angels adored her. She was wonderful really. Her demon wings would replace her swift angelic ones when she entered hell, but she would keep on wielding both swords. Why? For protection of course. The swords were more powerful than you can imagine.

How did she die? What is it with you and death? You always seem to want to know more about it. You’re far too young to be thinking about that. Far too young. And she’s not dead. Not really. In a sense, I suppose, but not truly.

She’s caught.

That’s the word for it.

Caught.

Like a bird in netting, she’s bound.

Trapped between the two worlds.

In both and yet not really in either.

I shan’t say anymore. Hurry off now and go to bed.

I can’t say anything more tonight.

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