All I could think of was how beautiful you looked, even through the downpour.
Your stance so regal, dark-gowned and full height in the wind-tossed high grass
Your bearing, not defiant, but trusting that the power so rapidly bearing down upon you, dread and awful in its unpredictability even when bequeathed to your forebears, would find no fault, or make exceptions.
My heartbeat matched the the shimmering rhythm of the thick slashing rain, seeking to smash through the window glass, rolling thunder rattling the cottage as if laying flat in fear at the roar of unabated thunder, and I blinked hard and fast against the sizzling brightness of untethered lightning.
Then I saw the moment when the bolts hit you.
I saw you fall.
I thought you died, burned to a bloody pile of bone and ash, swept away across the open field, the rushing wind scattering your remains like sand from a child’s fist.
And I wept for you all through the wet, stormy night, thinking the inheritance of the powers you were to receive had found fault in you after all, and punished you for the crimes of your soul.
The burning grass hid your shadow from me at first.
As you emerged, walking toward me, unsteady as a first fawn, the sight of you was terrible and beautiful, spellbinding and repulsive. Fear and lust waltzed within me at the sight of you, rescued and resurrected, by a hand unseen yet not unfamiliar to your kind.
The dark, vengeful, fallen one, swatted from Paradise like the very flies he commanded, took pity on himself, and raised you to be yet another useless minion to strike another feeble blow at his celestial conqueror.
Our eyes locked, and I saw the sadness in your gaze, even through the iridescence of your glowing irises, confirmed by your phosphorescent tears.
The field that newly took the trauma of your birthing, now tinged with the light of false dawn, gave the wet, charred grasses over to slow, cold, misty death while the morning dew set about drowning the small, clingy fires that remained.
And you walked back into a world that no longer knew you.
And in my weakness, I suffered the bite that transported me, and took the mark that condemned me to be with you to endure unbearable pain, knowing you were no longer who you were.
I wondered, now together, in the inheritance of damnation’s light, if we would we learn to love again.
Does it matter?