IC blog for Remiel.

He was in Maine, just outside the pocket dimension, fishing for the keys to get in. Despite laying the wards himself, Remiel’s now intact grace is being repelled. At least he knew for sure they had worked all those years to protect his son; unfortunately being on the wrong side of the border of his lighthouse home, those wards weren’t able to protect him from a long overdue destiny. 

Such had always been the cruel hand of fate. 

I think I understand now.  He is very agitated.  Remiel, he loathes me, and he does not care to know me.  He says that I am awful at this and he is not wrong.  I do not know how.  I think that perhaps my pinnacle achievement as a mother was leaving him to be raised by you.

He will not speak to me of such things, and I do not blame him.  What is there for me to say?

You always liked structure and you’re used to being in charge. These are admirable traits and they’ve made you successful. Willie been doesn’t need a boss.

He doesn’t loath you Mara, dear. He wants to know you but you’ve both sort of missed the mark every time he’s tried to reach out. He’s frustrated. To him, he feels like he’s tried repeatedly and you’ve just brushed him off. He wants your attention not your direction.

I was afraid this would happen. You haven’t found any common ground and he’s retaliating. I don’t want to speak for him but I imagine he feels like you moved on and you’re living your life without him. He wants to be part of your life. Start small. Maybe brunch. He likes those tomato juice cocktails. He calls them the vegetarian vampires but I don’t think that’s right.

He needs choice Malcolm. Stop telling him what to do and ask him what he wants. If he gets a little unruly steer him towards better choices or challenge him to a sword fight. He’ll respect you more if you can beat him in a dual.

How’s Will? He was a little shaken up about having to bring his friend home. He didn’t think she was ready but she seemed a bit of a creature of habit so he decided to return with her to wherever. 

I need you need to understand WIll isn’t a child anymore. Trying to keep him locked up will only sour his humanity. He’s not a prisoner. I know this is difficult for you but spend some time with him. Get to know him. He’s been through a lot recently and he needs a delicate hand. Maybe you could get to know one another and see how great each of you is. 

He draws a bath, though the water is far from as warm as Marcella likes it. The entire villa is cold; there wasn’t much of a point in keeping the fires burning after she left.  He never minded the cold the way she had. 

She’s pale and quiet and all of her tears have seemed to dry by the time everything is ready and the child is sleeping. He doesn’t want to put the boy. His son. He is awestruck through everything -that God would let him have such a thing, even after he had ripped out his own grace and plummeted to earth. 

But perhaps. . . God was not involved at all. 

He lifts her from an ornately carved chair and wonders if the blood stains will ever come out. Disrobing her is challenging, despite what little clothing she has on, as he is doing his best not to injure her further. She’s barely alive and what fight is left in her, in the demon or the human host, is quickly fading. 

Marcella is dying and they both know it. 

“Easy now,” he murmurs softly, slipping her into the tub and resting her head on the ledge. Her dark eyes close, If she’s still conscious she doesn’t indicate it and he bathes her in silence. He crushes a few wilted roses in his hand before running the petals through her black hair before rinsing it. ‘She always smelled so nice,’ he muses. 

Remiel sighs, heavy and long, from the depths of his soul. He loves her. He will always love her. What she is does not change anything. He can’t lose her. 

“You’re going to hate me for this,” he whispers to her softly, “but I’ll hate myself if I don’t. . . You’ll forgive me. We’ll meet again and one day maybe he’ll need you and you’ll understand then. But I need you to know. . . who I was before. . . I’m not the same. I wasn’t a person then. I am myself now.” 

He leaves her in the tub for a moment, water pink with her own blood and cooling to room temperature. 

Beneath a massive evergreen tree behind there villa, Remiel begins digging. His hands shovel away earth until he finds a glass bottle. Careful not to un-stopper it, he spends a moment watching the lightning storm trapped inside as it rages. He grips it tightly, every possibility of what he could do running through his mind, but he’s already decided. He knows what he must do. 

When he returns Marcella has sunken into the water. he can’t be ure but he wonders if she made herself slip into the water. He had been so careful with her, even as her head lulled, half dead in the tub. 

Maybe she won’t forgive him. 

Maybe he will lose her for good.

Forever. 

He tugs her face back up from the water, mud smearing on the skin he just cleaned. He places her back on the edge of the tub with her head above the water again. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs again. The sound of waves roaring and mountains crumbling, of stars exploding and thousands of voices all screaming at once, all sound when he opens the bottle. 

He tilts the bottle over the water and slowly pours the liquid lightning out. I few bubbles drop out, plopping into the water and sinking like mercury. 

Remiel holds his breath, resealing the bottle and waiting. He watches as his grace dissolves in the water and her face flushes. Marcella’s body twitches, softly at first and then it begins writhing. He moves and holds her head making sure it stays above the water. Her body seizes one more time before she collapses. He lifts her from the tub and brings her to the bed they once shared. 

He drapes a blanket over her, tucking her in next to their son for one night of rest -it may be the only time she has the chance. Restless and acutely aware of what needs to happen, Remiel rinses his hands and begins packing several trunks. He and the child are both gone before dawn breaks. 

Remiel you have enough experience with the Fallen that you should not be under any misguided notion that Hell would have sought to engineer something it could not control, through some method or another.  He will not listen to me, but perhaps you could sway him to reason.

All the more reason you should be fortifying the wards, not inviting every supernatural creature with a social media account to come and check in for a long weekend.

Again. He is a whole and complete MAN. Grown with his own needs and desires. In the famous words of Selena Gomez, the heart wants what it wants.

Would you prefer I cut it out of him?

I don’t think Hell could ever really prepare for him. Man plans and God laughs. I don’t think it’s any different for Hell or Heaven or whatever. William is capable of so much. I’m not sure I can even fully comprehend all that he is capable of.

He’ll be okay.

He’s not coming back until he’s sorted himself out and I honestly don’t want him here, he’ll just make trouble.