He wore a variety of jewelry—the bangles on his wrists, cluttered with other assorted things that he’d found and collected over time. His ears were adorned with pieces of metal and the single jet stud that he’d worn, never removing, since his first year of life. In his youth he’d been vain and beautiful, but the instant that his brother had marked his face, marring his beauty, self-mutilation had begun. Beneath it all he remained fine-boned and lovely, though gaunt and decayed. He was like a victim claimed by leprosy, though his affliction was solely within his mind. Scarred and burned, all loveliness had faded. Only once the initial shock and horror had faded away could former beauty be detected.
From his wrist he plucked a rosary, briefly accepting the show of affection presented to his hand before drawing it away and removing the article from amongst the others. He held up the cross dangling from the end, showing it to the coyote. “I am the savior. I am the messiah. One day soon, someone will come to kill me. My body may die, my flesh and blood may be torn apart and decay back into the earth, but I will live on. I am an angel, and I will return to heaven. I am immortal and I cannot die. Remember this, and remember me,” he said, placing the rosary around his neck.
He began a prayer, slowly moving his fingers along each bead with the ending of one and the beginning of another, showing the younger coyote as he went. “Remissionem peccatorum,” he purred, his voice low and velveteen. “Carnis resurrectionem, vitam aeternam.” He would show him, and he would learn. He would worship Samael, and he would worship the Angel, the Light-bearer, and he would fall from grace just as fate intended.