A Gift of Fate

A voice hums in harmony with the murmur of the clouds as the sky tips the sun over the horizon, the dripping hues instantly conquering their canvas. Footsteps as harsh as the light of the moon over sleeping cities lead forward a dress of cloud colored flowers to the precipice, a silhouette over the alluring shadows of the woods that clothe the barren rock. The voice laughs, staring down with eyes of molten iron. Thin fingers grasp a blossom from the dress, tossing it playfully over the edge. It hovers for a moment before sinking away. 

"What are you doing here?" 

A smile cuts through the air like silver wings weighed by moonlight. "What? I come here every sunset. And the winter light makes it all the more precious." 

"Please." Eyes the color of the sky. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

Shoulders roll forward, waves pouring over shores of mirth. "I can't help it. This place is so peaceful." 

Another flower drifts over the cliff. 

Another smile slips over cloudy cheeks, as if by accident. "Well, your presence certainly makes things quieter. You dear, sweet angel, what is it that settles your heart in the midst of the agonized wails of the sun?" 

A finger meets a pair of lips. "I don't know what you're talking about. Listen closely. Everything is sleeping here." 

Another flower floats daintily away, accompanied by the thin murmur of a hidden stream. 

A scoff ricochets off the borders of the heavens. "You really think you're something special, don't you?" 

"Not in the slightest. I like coming here, but not for the power. There are so few places for me to simply enjoy the company of myself, to allow the blissful solitude to swallow me whole as the sky will one day the sea." A thumb and index finger meet, clutching tightly between them a cloud colored bloom, molten eyes inspecting it before casting it away. "I love what we do. We give freedom to so many. Even if I'm not special, there's something special about this. To watch life and death, see those below us in happiness and despair, witness the beauties and atrocities of an existence we have never known. There's something magical about it." 

"And to watch the blessings of our kingdom reign terror over it all, no?" A hand reaches for the dress of flowers, grabbing a handful of the sky tinged florets, iron eyes watching them drip like cloudy wine down the horizon. "You can't have any of it without those fiends. What is darkness if not the absence of light?" 

"Please, don't do that. I know I'll get a new dress with all my new flowers tomorrow, but it wouldn't be right to not take pleasure in each one. Perhaps our job is only to ensure freedom for those below us, but it doesn't feel right not to appreciate the way each flower falls." 

A frown twists the corner of unearthly lips. "Since when are you one to be guided by morality?"

"I wouldn't call it morality so much as my own sense of fulfillment." 

"How strange." 

"Isn’t it?" A melodic tone tears through the chasm, met by a laugh as light as the hidden stars. "Oh, listen to that! Isn't it wonderful?" A flower rests in the center of a cloud colored palm, slim fingers rolling between them a single silky petal, pulling until it is freed from the reins of its center and letting it drift with serenity on the sun stained wind. The music is amplified. "It's so beautiful!" 

"You dear, iron eyed angel," sings the voice. "You really think that's beautiful?" 

"I really do." 

"It seems our tastes quite differ." The hand once again takes hold of the dress, gripping the flowers and ripping them to shreds before scattering them for the gales to feed, running down the ether like thick, sanguinary rivulets. The chorus swells with sound. 

Euphoria manifests in wide, molten eyes. "Oh my. You certainly showed me. But still, the dusk runs thin. We should strike that delicate balance between volume and duration with great care, lest our pleasure fade until the sun dares to scream again." Another flower is plucked, crushed in a cloudy hand and blown ravenously into the sky. “You know, I feel so sorry for this world. Not the people in it, but the place itself. It spectates as many tragedies as victories, all of which seem so easily preventable.” 

“Would you throw away the rest of your flowers if I told you the Earth suffers less when we do our job faster?” 

“Not a chance. These flowers are far too precious.” 

The hand takes hold of yet another bloom, hurling it away over the mist. It hangs in the air, just out of gravity’s reach. A frown deepens. “Why won’t it fall?” 

“Come now, be patient. Some are stubborn like that. They’re afraid to change, afraid of what they don’t know. But it’s alright. They all come eventually to realize that the freedom we provide offers more ecstasy than they could ever ask for.” A smile plays warmly within eyes containing the breadth of the ocean. “They like to tell themselves that they can hold on to what they know, that they don’t have to take their next steps, but they always come to us in the end.” 

Amusement dances on a hollow laugh. “The poor fools. It would be so much easier on us all if they knew that the only refuge of the hopeless is to have no hope of refuge.” 

“Yes, it does become difficult to watch after a while, doesn't it? Still, even if they don’t know yet, they all come to abandon hope here. What good is hope in a place that delivers the ultimate? We have eternities to offer them. Hope will only hold them back.” 

The dying light engulfs the sky as the flower falls. 

Molten eyes glitter in the oncoming blackness. “But you don’t really feel sorry for them, do you?” 

“Of course not. They’ve brought this on themselves. It may have been the gods that took sides in their wars, but they were the ones who felled cities and scorned honor in favor of pettiness and called it justice.” The light grows lurid. “They may seem like heroes, but everyone has a villain, restless, inside, begging for their kings to raise their prisons so they can wreak havoc on the seas. Whether they show it or not, they like directing the winds into storms. Not even those who claim divinity can escape the clutches of that one most notorious fiend of all, the one whom each being, empyrean or not, makes their own god.” 

Sadness drips into the eyes of the sounding sea. “Why so cynical?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” 

An avalanche disguised as a sigh tumbles from suddenly tired lips. “Think about it for a moment. The work we’re doing here, there is a purpose to it. We’re not just collectors. We have to mold and reshape those who come to us, to make them better, more suitable for the world they belong to. We offer redemption.” 

“Not to all. You know you’re fooling yourself. You only pretend to find pleasure in this tedium, the perpetuity. You pass it off as routine and predictable, but you can’t possibly be satisfied with this.” 

“Maybe not. But what does it matter? I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy with it. Just listen!” A lively tune lights up the sky, followed eagerly by delighted laughter. “How can I not love it? If nothing else, I can’t help but allow my own amusement to beguile me, though I know it will someday lead me to run awry. Listen to the way they beg each other for mercy, how they expect assistance, pity, absolution from their own kind. And are we not at fault as well? It's not as if we don't partake in some form of rapture. I've only been here this long because I enjoy it so much. Desire has wrapped her fingers even around us, has she not?" 

"You dear angel of molten eyes. You don't feel pleasure. You only use the name to justify actions that have little meaning when your piece is fit into the bigger picture. You don't have the capacity to be selfish, however badly you may want to be. Your thoughts are immaterial. You are not like them." 

"I should have known it was no use hiding from you. You have me all figured out." The silence sings of false longing. "Can I ask you a question?" 

"It only seems fair." 

Another flower is thrown. 

"Why did you come out here at this time? You usually take the nights, don't you?" 

"I wanted to ridicule the heavens, of course. Since we are clearly allowed to create the illusion of pleasure for ourselves, this is mine." 

Hesitance picks at slim fingers as the flowers begin to thin. 

"Ridicule them for what?" 

"Leave some of those for me, would you?" 

"You've already taken handfuls of mine. You'll get your own when the moon rises." 

"Fine. I'm here to ridicule the heavens for thinking less of us. I think it's comically unfair, what they do, causing their problems and leaving us to clean up their messes. Not that it's entirely their fault, but it kills me to see those supposedly infallible deities getting all the credit." 

"Does the blame not fall on those who instigate?" 

Slowly, deliberately, fingers pluck away another flower, handing it over to the abyss. 

"Can the instigator claim fault if there was already poison in the blood of the victim?" 

Iron eyes are tinged with glee. "What a good point you raise! Anyways, I'll be going soon. This is the last one." 

Fingers hold up the flower. 

"Throw it with ceremony, would you?" 

With a wide sweep, the final cloud colored blossom flies over the faltering twilight. The music soars from beyond the edge, gorgeous screams touching infernal ears as the petals cut through fate itself, as though it is nothing more than a thread spun from pure fragility. 

"Thank you for the company. I'll admit, it was nice." 

"It was my pleasure. I'll be taking over, then. The boatman is waiting by the forest for your delivery. You're right about the winter lighting, by the way." The clouds, the sea, the sky, all shriek in the crimson of the silent sun. "Enjoy the night, you dear, sweet iron eyed angel of death."