Michael paced the Palace halls. It was his day to serve the Ruler, although his mind was anywhere but. His steps echoed softly on the white marble floor. He had always been so careful! He had visited this same forest for a year and never left a trace. Not a footprint, not a blade of grass out of place.
"Except now," Michael thought, grabbing fistfuls of his golden hair.
Stupid!
Unacceptable!
A feather. A white feather. And she had found it!
Careless! He kicked the white wall.
Michael grits his teeth. "She even remarked on how unusual it was!"
A young angel appeared in front of Michael. He wondered how long this angel had watched his struggle. "Greetings, Seraphim Michael. The Ruler requests your presence in the Great Hall". The younger, lower-ranking angel bowed and disappeared from view.
Michael began to stress, wringing his hands as he walked toward the Great Hall. What if the Ruler had been paying attention to the Mortal Plane? He hadn't bothered in centuries; maybe He decided to check in. "And if He has, I am in big trouble," the Seraphim thought.
Michael swallowed the lump in his throat and entered the Great Hall. He stood before the Throne and bowed deeply. His wings spread parallel to the floor.
"Stand, Seraphim Michael." the loud voice commanded. Michael rose, folded his wings neatly behind his back, and bowed his head.
"Greetings, Mighty Ruler. How may this humble servant be of use to You today?" Michael recited the words his Brothers taught him.
Pleased, the Ruler began to speak. "Your Brothers tell Me of your travels to the Mortal Plane." The Ruler's voice boomed through the Great Hall.
"Yes, Mighty Ruler," Michael said without raising his head.
"And you have properly followed the orders for stepping outside of the Kingdom?"
"Yes, Mighty Ruler," Michael said, fidgeting slightly. He did not lie; he had not been seen, he had not interfered, and he had not interacted with the humans. He hoped with his whole being that the woman would forget about something as simple as the feather she found.
"You are dismissed, Seraphim Michael."
Michael bowed and took his leave.
"The Ruler knows," Michael agonized to himself. "He knows about the feather. He knows I lost it. He knows she found it." He pressed his back against the wall. Indeed, he would be punished.
"But He hasn't paid the Mortal Plane any heed in centuries, why would He care about a girl finding a feather? It could be any feather! Nobody knows that it's mine!"
Michael slowly slid down the wall. He curled his knees to his chest and placed his head on his knees.
"But I know it's mine."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hours later, Michael left the Palace. He had spent his day at the Palace agonizing over the woman in his head. He was torn between trying to talk to Raphael again and keeping his worries to himself.
Michael passed by the Prayer Fountain and heard a stream of prayers from the humans. Why had the Ruler grown so numb to his subjects? Indeed, it would be better to help those who asked for it rather than ignore it. Michael needed help understanding. But as a serving Seraphim, he could not simply ask these questions; questioning the Ruler and how things were done was cause for Falling. No angel had ever Fallen, and all angels, regardless of rank, were subconsciously afraid of that ultimate punishment.
Walking on the white sidewalks, Michael stood at the entrance to the library. Raphael would be here; he always was. Michael quietly opened the door so as not to disturb his Brother. He heard Raphael's voice, as well as the voice of another of his Brothers, Remiel.
"... he continues to leave the Kingdom to go to the Mortal Plane, I don't understand, Rem, what is there for him that he cannot get in the Kingdom?"
Michael waited silently, waiting to hear what Remiel would tell Raphael.
"Our youngest Brother must be keeping something from us. I have been to the realm of the humans, and there is nothing of interest there. Why would any of us want to go where we cannot be seen or heard? To only watch your back, like prey? And if we were to be seen? The Ruler would have such unbearable wrath. We should talk to our Brother and convince him the Mortal Plane is for that- the mortals. He is only going to cause trouble for himself or us."
Raphael seemed to consider Remiel's words. Michael could not tell how Raphael felt, as he was still out of sight.
"He mentioned a place he liked to go, but he was very odd about telling me about it. Maybe one of the other Brothers have heard more from Michael. But as long as he follows the rules for traveling to the Human Realm, I don't see why we should trouble ourselves with why Michael likes to go there. Even if we do find it strange that he likes to go." Raphael seemed to question why his youngest Brother enjoyed leaving the Kingdom so much but decided not to trouble himself further with details of things he found unnecessary.
Remiel left Raphael to his reading and passed by Michael without noticing the Seraphim standing against the pillar. Deciding it was best not to speak with Raphael at the moment, Michael closed his eyes and stepped forward - out of the Kingdom and back to the Mortal Plane.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Michael strode along a deserted graveyard path just outside of Canden. He passed many grave markers, seeing some newer, to some broken and faded with age. He read some names, but knowing no humans, these names meant little. Reed. Hawthorne. Quill. Row by row, the names of the dead Canden villagers stood, carved in stone. The Seraphim noticed many of the family names came from nature; the villagers must respect nature's beauty and tranquility.
He passed a giant statue of an angel and stared up at it. What did this mean? Do humans believe that the angels watch over their dead? Why place a figure of his immortal kind amongst the dead? Michael thought he should ask Raphael, but his thoughts turned cold and sad.
Raphael.
Did his Brothers often speak of Michael's trips to the Mortal Plane? Raphael did not care about Michael's enchantment with the mortals, and Remiel seemed to scoff at the concept of enjoying being among humans. Remiel always seemed to slightly dislike the youngest Seraphim Brother and his constant questions about how the worlds worked. Michael knew he asked many questions, especially to his older Brothers, but wasn't knowledge better than ignorance? Remiel may have differences with the curious Seraphim, but Raphael had always been patient with the barrage of inquiries. Was Raphael mentioning Michael's fondness of the Mortal Plane to the Ruler?
Maybe he best keeps his questions to himself for a while. Raphael had been in an unusual mood lately. And he wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself by asking his other Brothers questions. He couldn't risk the Ruler's wrath or, worse: Falling.
Michael continued his investigation of the burial ground. The grey clouds above gave out under their weight, and rain began to fall, sticking Michael's hair to his head and turning his white clothes translucent. It did not matter to the angel; humans did not like being caught in the rain, and his chances of being seen were almost insignificant. Michael turned his head to the angel statue in the graveyard again, noticing that they looked more similar now that his curls were plastered against his head. He wondered where the humans had gotten their ideas of what angels looked like; as far as he knew, they had always been forbidden to interact with one another. Another question for Raphael for another day.
Michael strode along the graveyard path, observing more names and more depictions of things from his Kingdom. "The humans must really be devoted to the Ruler," he said after seeing the fifth cross on a grave marker. "If only the Ruler were as devoted to them."
Michael closed his eyes, stepped forward, and returned to the Kingdom. Seeing the devotion of the humans toward the Ruler was saddening, knowing their love and respect was no longer reciprocated. Knowing his Brother Raphael would be there, he passed the library and continued home. He was not in the mood to speak with his Brothers.
Being in the graveyard in the Human Realm had been disappointing, seeing the humans' unreciprocated love for the Ruler. Michael was not ready to return home yet, needing to walk to think about everything he had seen in the Mortal Plane. The angel statue, in particular. The figure looked like him but with tamer curls. Did humans have a fantastic guess, or had something in the Kingdom been covered up, and angels had been once involved with the humans? What did it mean? There was something that did not make sense to Michael, but he could not pinpoint it. He passed the gardens of the Palace, watching the messenger angel Uriel hurry past.
Once in the small cottage he called home, Michael changed from his usual white attire, which had dried significantly over his walk. He peeled the clinging fabric from his skin and changed into a dry pair of black silken night pants, leaving his chest bare and wings free. He dried his wet hair, his golden curls sticking up wildly as he ran the towel over them. His chest ached. He was becoming increasingly frustrated with how the Kingdom and Mortal Plane did not interact. Humans could have much better lives. He could help them with their prayers. If only the Ruler cared enough to let him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author's Note: Raphael: Raff-Eye-Ell