The Seraphim angels were those closest to the Ruler of the Kingdom. There were seven Seraphim Brothers: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Jeremiel, Raguel, Zerachiel, and Remiel. They had served the Ruler of the Kingdom for centuries. The oldest, Gabriel, had been serving the Ruler the longest, and shown his brothers how the Ruler preferred things to be done. The youngest of the Seraphim, Michael, has been serving the Ruler for only a few decades now, and resents the way the Kingdom has been run.
Michael stretched his wings. He was preparing to go back to the Mortal Plane; he found it much more peaceful and simple among the humans, than among the angels in the Kingdom. He was tired of serving the Ruler, and tired of the inequality he saw in the Kingdom. He heard the prayers of the humans all the time, and watched the Ruler do nothing. Michael had asked Gabriel and Zerachiel, his two oldest brothers, if the Ruler used to step in to listen to the prayers. Zerachiel told Michael that centuries ago, the Ruler listened to prayers and answered ones He felt were most deserving. Things between the Kingdom and the Mortal Plane were peaceful. But Gabriel told his youngest brother that the Ruler had grown apathetic as the populations of humans grew, and grown more apathetic as more and more of the humans became Unbelievers.
The youngest Seraphim stepped forward, and out of the Kingdom. As he opened his eyes, he found himself in his favorite forest in the Mortal Plane. A small forest outside of a small village of mostly poor villagers. Many of the villagers were Unbelievers, especially since a great illness had claimed the lives of many of the inhabitants about ten years prior. "What kind of Ruler would allow this to happen to us?" cried the villagers as they buried their numerous dead. Michael knew that being among Unbelievers was best for his kind, as they would go to any length to not believe what they saw, on the minute chance they spotted the angel watching.
Michael was 225 years old, but appeared like a human male in his late twenties. His golden curls reached his collar, and his ice blue eyes were rimmed with long, perfect eyelashes. His wings were a soft white, and he folded them against his back as he sat on a fallen tree. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and was happy to have peace. He did not have the pressures of the Kingdom here, and did not have the looming power of the Ruler over him here. Michael dressed in white; a white waistcoat over a white shirt, tucked into perfectly white pants. His white shoes made no footsteps on the grasses here. Michael was always careful to leave no trace of his presence in the Mortal Plane, as the Ruler would put an end to his visits here.
The youngest Seraphim sat on the fallen tree, listening to the nearby stream bubbling its song to the world. He heard two ravens nearby, and heard a young woman talking to them as if they were old friends. He smiled to himself; so few humans took the time to interact with nature as they should. Knowing the woman would be coming this way, Michael stepped away from his perch to stand among the trees, farther away from the stream.
A young woman emerged from further down the path, carrying her basket. Michael stepped back, careful not to make a sound. She was thin, graceful, with long flowing black hair, and a light dusting of freckles was spread across her face. She was beautiful, he thought. He watched the young woman in the flowing dress and apron pick various plants and herbs. She sang to herself as she worked, a sound soothing to Michael. He wished there was something as soothing as this available to him in the Kingdom, rather than the constant bickering among the Seraphim Brothers about serving the Ruler, the babble of the Cherubim, and the chatter of the Angels. The Seraphim watched the young woman work, and watched her peer into the stream, and then fix her hair before leaving the forest clearing. Michael let a silent sigh fall from his lips, knowing he could never interact with this human.
The Ruler knew of Michael's visit to the Mortal Plane, and allowed the youngest Seraphim to continue visiting the realm of humans, so long as he never revealed his existence. Michael was to never interfere with the humans, as this was the role of the Ruler, and the Ruler only. This was the one grace that the Ruler allowed Michael, after decades of servitude. As the young woman left the forest clearing, Michael stepped from his place among the trees, back to his fallen tree. He had heard the desires of the woman through her song, and wished he could give her what she craved. He put his head in his hands, and raked his fingers through his golden curls. This was a gift and a curse from the Ruler, to allow him his peace to visit the realm of the humans, but to not interfere. His wings stretched, and a single white feather fell to the ground.
Hours later, Michael stood alone on the outside of the village center. What was he doing here? Why was he following this woman? He can't help her. He can't speak to her. She can't even know he exists. Michael pulled at his hair. What was the matter with him? She could never know of his existence. She was a human. He was a Seraphim, a servant of the Ruler of the Kingdom. Why was he so drawn to watch her?
Fighting internally and silently with himself, Michael watched the young woman as she went from shop to shop in the market. His heart ached as he watched her pick up a small child with golden hair, bounce him on her hip, tousle the child's hair, and playfully pinch his cheeks before handing the child off to his heavily pregnant mother. Michael pinched his side, and hard. Why was his heart aching from such a sight? She was a human doing human things. It was none of his business. He shook his head, trying to shake some sense into himself. He would have to ask Raphael if he had ever heard of an angel of any ranking caring so much about a single human. Raphael was wiser, and knew to keep his mouth shut about such questions.
Michael was about to turn and leave from his position in the shadows when he watched a well-dressed, heavy man approach the young woman in blue and grab her. Fury flared in the Seraphim; how dare this man touch her? His ice blue eyes were cold as he watched the man try to get her attention, and he relaxed as the woman wriggled her way free of the man's grasp.
"I will have my day, Miss Ravenna!" cried the man, exasperated.
Ravenna. What a perfect name for the woman, thought Michael to himself. The woman with the hair as black as raven's wings. The woman who took the time to befriend the ravens. Ravenna. The name burned into his mind as Michael watched the woman head back toward her home.
But who was the man who tried so hard to get her attention? And why did Michael feel compelled to know more about him?