#03142015

She was flanked by two guards, wings (which were a purple so pale, they were nearly white) fluffed in fright and wariness, eyes wide as she was brought before the court. She looked up at the eldest siblings, the Archangels, Michael in the center with Uriel, Raphael and Zadkiel to his left and Gabriel, Chamuel, and Jophiel to his right.

“Cecily. You have been brought before the court under the charges of treason. How do you plead?”

“Not…Not guilty.”

A murmur ran through the room and Cecily ducked her gaze, looking at the shackles around her wrists, the Enochian keeping her Grace in check.

“Not guilty. I have a hard time believing you.”

“She is as much a liar as Lucifer is. No doubt, she was always on his side.” Raphael reasoned.

“No! I wasn’t! That isn’t what happened! He said he loved me, loved us! That he wanted to make amends!” she argued. “Please, you have to-“

“Have to what?” Michael interrupted. “Have to believe you? You, over the evidence? You, over all of our siblings who watched you let the Great Deceiver in? Who let him and his army destroy our homes and kill our brethren? You, who are standing trial because of your own choices?”

“He said he was sorry. That he wanted to talk to you, wanted to come home.”

Michael frowned, leaning back.

“Silly little Angel. To have believed such pretty words. I almost pity you. Almost. But you are found guilty.”

“No!”

“You will be stripped of your Grace, your wings will no longer be as they are, and you? You will live the rest of your existence on Earth, locked out of Heaven.”

“NO!”

She screamed, sitting up with tears trailing down her face, chest heaving as she panted softly. Damnit….she hated those nights when she went down memory lane. It usually meant one of her siblings was near. Sighing, she stood, making her way to the bathroom to get ready for work. In this world, she was known as Cecily Lefevre, in this lifetime, she was a waitress who taught art at the local community center. It was mundane, but she loved it, felt she made a difference. Cecily was just about to leave when she felt a familiar presence at her door. Frowning, she grabbed her blade, keeping it hidden as she slowly opened the door of her tiny studio apartment to find Michael on the other side.

“No.”

“Cecily. You don’t even know why I’m here.”

“I do. The last time you visited me, you told me you would restore my Grace if I helped Brutus come to the conclusion to kill Ceasar. Except that Ceasar died and….No Grace.”

“We felt you didn’t do it thoroughly enough.”

“No. You’re just a liar. Just like Luci-“

Cecily was cut off as her head jerked to the right, cheek stinging from the harsh slap that Michael delivered.

“I am nothing like that snake,” he snarled. “I am Michael, the Archangel, your brother!”

“You disowned me! Chained my wrists and ankles, threw me from Heaven! And yet you still treat me like one of your soldiers, like I haven’t fallen, like I’m willing to take any orders from you! You’re a fool and a coward and if you think I’m going to let you use me anymore, you can think again.”

They stared each other down for several long moments before Michael reached out, grabbing her throat and pulling her close.

“This is not over,” the Archangel whispered, voice low and dangerous, laced with his power and it made Cecily quiver in fear. “You will submit to the will of Heaven, Cecily. You are the Angel of Impurity, the one who let Lucifer in, who fell for his charms. And you will never stop longing for Heaven and so, will submit to us. I’ll be back and when I return, you will agree. Or you will die.”

She blinked and he was gone, Cecily’s hand rubbing her throat as she stared at her open door.

And he did come back, because Michael kept most of his promises. As he had said, Cecily agreed, heart clenching because this was not who she was, not what she had become since her fall. She walked towards the community center, blade in hand. A turf war….Michael had said it was vital to the plan, to starting the Final War and bringing Lucifer down for good but her target wasn’t an adult and this was not what she had signed up for.

Biting her lip, she waited for the boy (still a child, only fourteen) to be alone, held back tears as she stabbed him in the back, made it look as if the rival gang had done it all.

It was all over the news the next day and Cecily sat curled up on her couch, Michael sitting beside her, looking far too pleased that an innocent boy had died, that the woman next to him had done the killing at his order.

“This wasn’t right.” Cecily whispered, voice soft and broken as she stared blankly at the TV, the reporter going on about the turf war that had ensued, about the number of those already dead, either innocent civilians or gang members.

“It is necessary to the plan and so it is right,” he said, standing and patting her head in the same condescending way he always did after he gave her a task such as this. “Don’t worry. When Lucifer dies, you’ll get you Grace back. I’ll be in touch.”