This place called to him, reminding him of what he desired, but could not have. To touch the sun would melt his wings of wax and send him plummeting hopelessly into the ocean below. As high as the birds flew, they could never reach heaven. Sheol beckoned, reminding him where he belonged. The Angel’s pale, radiant skin peeled away, flecking from bleached bone and hollow, blackened eyes. A skeletal laugh rang in his ears. Life was suffering. He would never willingly cross the line of vacant, smirking skulls, though he watched them from afar. He remained in the part of the Waste that wasn’t yet claimed—free land, where he was perfectly permitted to walk without confrontation. The heady, musky scent of smoke reached him first. The girl’s appearance was shocking, sending him into an uncertain state, peering on for a time from out of sight.
She looked so much like her, save for the eyes, the russet splashes across her limbs, and the lack of scars that marked Kaena as a queen in his eyes. He rose to his full height, slinking from the brush and into a range where he might be discovered. He wasn’t particularly close to her, where she walked, but he was close enough that he’d been able to watch her, downwind, beyond detection. The sky had begun to darken and he seemed to melt into the shadows—his coat filling out with natural shadow each winter, leaving him closer to a representation of his now deceased sire. He drew nearer, curiously, slowly. He only paused when he was within a few yards of her. “Fuck me,” he said aloud, gazing at her, again alarmed and enthralled by the similarity in their appearances.