PROLOGUE
Love. That is how I plan to save them. That is the weapon I wield. I wield the weapon of love. Like blood it drips down the sword; it falls like poison but it is the opposite of poison. It knows not hate. It knows not anger. It knows not envy or pride. Love can change hearts. Love can take a stone and mold it into gold. Hatred is love’s curse but hatred holds no grounds. Love comes at it like fire and smothers it before it can breathe. Love is more powerful than any of the virtues; it is hard to attain and even harder to hold onto. But love is God, and God has made all things that have been made.
The poison falls towards its victim. Michael, only twelve, and yet more wicked than any man on earth, lays breathing under the blade. It might not work. Striking a mere mortal with a love that is destined does not change the fact that they still have free will -- that they can still do as they please, turn their back and walk away into the darkness. Still, I know what I was called here to do. I strike down hard. I watch him bleed. He does not feel. He won’t yet feel. When he awakes there will be no blood. His shirt will be white and his hands will be clean but on the inside I pray I would have sparked something.
His eyes open. They look right at me, but I know he can’t see me. I know he is blind. His sight, smothered in the darkness. He cannot see anything but hell. I reach out to touch him. I can feel his heart slamming against his chest. His lungs tighten. His breathing becomes harsh and uneven. He closes his eyes and drifts away again.
“Guardian angel.” Her silent prayers reach out to me. “Guardian angel, are you here?” she asks and I can see her, looking around the castle -- at the fire and at her mother. I back away from the young boy and answer, “Yes, Eliza, I am always with you.”
As soon as I back away, demons slither toward him; they yank out the sword and whisper evil into his soul. He opens his eyes and lifts his head. Weary, confused. I listen to his thoughts. He curses himself again and again. He envisions murder, lust and sin. He finds pleasure in it. He does all that hell has taught him. The demons seem relieved, towering over him as if they rid him of the cure. They didn’t though. They couldn’t. Love had yet to claim him because the key was missing. The key was her.
“Guardian angel,” she prays again, “Is Papa safe? Where are you? I’m so scared. Why don’t you ever show your face?”
“Eliza, God will protect you all. Do not fear. Tonight marks the answering of all your prayers.”
The screams of winter pierce my ears. The devil has arrived. He appears before me, towering over the boy. His wings stretch out from his colorless skin. They are black, drenched in blood, and snipped at the ends. I cannot see his face; I dare not peer upon it. His fingers linger along the boy.
“My son, oh my son,” he murmurs to himself, as if the boy were his actual kin but thankfully he is not. “What has so violently struck you, my boy? Why do you smell so vile?” He twists his head to look at me. His eyes peer past me and into the soul of Eliza. For a second he looks afraid but then he snickers to himself and touches the boy on his cheek. “Ah, Michael you will have all that you desire. A beautiful maiden to corrupt and then set on fire.”
The young boy can hear him. He smiles, thinking of this beautiful woman he will tarnish and destroy. He imagines her before him: her golden hair and fair skin; her eyes of blue and rosy cheeks. He imagines, then, throwing her to the floor, destroying her innocence and then once he is done with her doing as the devil commands, tying her to wood and setting her on fire.
I had guided Eliza well up until this point. She was just a child but she was wise, wiser than most. Soon, I knew, I would have to guide her through hell – the hell that this boy is.
I turn toward the window. The stone is cold against my fingertips but within me burns passionate fire. I turn to look one last time at the boy. His brown hair topples over his face and he laughs wickedly, knowing now that all in the village of Luminarium are under peril -- being raped, killed, burned alive – children, mothers, fathers. There is no pity in his soul. There is only hate.
I blink and I am gone. There is no need to fly. I am there now, watching it. The deaths. The murders. The sin. The screaming echoes in my ear like a painful melody. It is all that can be heard. That, and the tears. A few prayers are uttered, but they are silenced immediately. This night is darker than any night had been before. The moon will not shine and the stars hide behind the clouds. There is no light. Luminarium’s only hope was their princess. Not their prince or their king but a girl.
God’s presence overcomes me. The fire in me burns all the more as he says, “Now, Angel Ducaminis, guardian of Elizabeth Santela, now the story begins.”
I open my eyes and watch as a million Amatorian fireflies dance before me. Their wings are white and their light never ceases; never do they die. The humans cannot see them. The Amatorians are too close to heaven, and humans too far away. It was the Amatorians who foretold this love and asked God of this. God granted their request and all that was spoken of in their book will be fulfilled so long as it is as according to God’s plan.
“Guardian angel!” The devil has frightened her with temptations and disheartening thoughts. I feel her pain. I hear her cries. My wings dissipate and I shrink toward the earth. Transforming into a white wolf, I race up the hill and toward the castle that sits there in its brilliance, covered in snow and ashes. There is no part in me that fears. Not even worry lingers in my blood. Death is no match for her. She bears a soul of love and what can conquer that?
First version of the prologue (Which do you prefer?):
The prologue
Two kingdoms once united, now torn
Rest upon the land of ancient Secretum
Where two destined lovers are born
To hate one another as cold-heartless phantoms
But a little child’s prayer
sweeps through the sky
The angels gather it with pleasure
And beg God to comply
The God, who is love
Pities the child’s cry
He chooses two hearts
One pure and one bland
And sweetly imparts
The love from his hand
I stood on a large hill, staring out at the men who wished to kill. Their screams were shrill; the pain was real. Faces masked in blood and tears flashed before my eyes. Children; mothers; fathers clung to the warmth of another, as the men began their slaughter, stealing away sweet life.
A young child with curls the color of sun, and eyes the color of emeralds-blue, reached out toward me, uttering prayers in a language untold. I shut my eyes for a second and allowed my white wings to caress the broken night. Her fervent prayers fell into my hands like drops of gold and I lifted them up toward the unseen paradise kept alive in her heart through faith and through love. She was asking for help -- asking for just an ounce of light. Heaven heard her cry and God spoke to me,
“Now, Angel Ducaminis, guardian of Elizabeth Santela, princess of Luminarium, now the story begins.”
Transforming into a white wolf, I raced down the green hill. My paws pressed themselves against the rough terrain. I could barely refrain from my excitement, and released a loud, screeching howl into the dark sky of winter.
It wasn’t even night when they came with torches in their hands, forcing their way into the small village of Luminarium . An old woman peered from the window of her bakery; she saw them coming. The fire blazing was a familiar sight, and though each time before she survived, she knew she would die tonight. The little children danced; their hands joined to form a circle, chanting an unfamiliar hymn,
Little one, twirl
Ignore the wicked men
Don’t hint to them a single amen.
May they come again and again
And find you dancing
Ignore the pain
Your strength you must retain
Even if you dance in rain
Your slight joy will never go in vain
You are made to smile
Remain a little child
Even though the sun lay dim mile after mile
You must remain happy and wild
Little one, twirl
Ignore the wicked men
Don’t hint to them a single amen.
May they come again and again
And find you dancing
The children’s gentle voices began to fade away, as I drew near to the castle. I threw my paws into the air and flew over the wall covered in snow. Through the window I saw her resting in her mother’s arms; her blue eyes looking aglow. I whispered her name very low, “Eliza…”