The Severed Link

A stray beam of light peeks through the curtains and lands on the young woman's face. The warmth tickles her chocolate skin, rousing her from her slumber. The woman wakes up with the familiar empty void deep within her soul. Her chocolate eyes slowly scan the towering boxes in her bedroom before closing her eyes and reciting her morning prayer.

Domine Deus, gratias tibi ago pro vita quam mihi donasti.

Gratias ago tibi pro matre mea et patre meo, qui me ad lucem tuam duxerunt.

Dum me tibi subicio, oro ut Spiritus Sanctus me protegat a tenebris.

Oro ut me adiuves vincere peccatricem cupiditatem sanguinis humani, et ut numquam alicui noceam.

Quaeso, permittas me tibi plene subicere et me ad maius propositum meum perducas.

In nomine Iesu oro:

Amen.

The prayer revitalises her spirit, and she gets refreshed from bed. Her feet take her to the bathroom sink. Christine walks up to the mirror and sees the wings flutter behind her. She knows that the wings are only a reflection of her true self. They do not manifest in the observable world.

She runs the tap water, splashes her face, and brushes her teeth. Once she turns off the taps. Once done, she sheds her clothing.

The woman runs the shower and cleanses her body with cold water and soap. Once done, she returns to the sink and brushes her wet hair before tying it in a clean bun.

She dresses in a green blazer and white linen business pants. She then completes the look with a black belt before leaving.

The deep crimson damask wallpaper cloaks the wall, its texture catching the natural light like blood veins in satin. The woman walks down the deep oak staircase into the living room.

Towering bookshelves line one side of the room, the shelves sagging beneath the weight of leather-bound tomes with spines cracking from centuries of use. A massive stone fireplace dominates the opposite wall, an array of silver candelabras, dried roses crumbling in vases, and a solitary, brooding portrait whose eyes seem to follow you no matter where you stand adorns the arched mantle.

The floor's dark, polished wood gleams faintly underfoot, though a sprawling black, gold, and deep green Persian rug obscures much of it. The carpet muffled footsteps, as though even sound feared to linger too long in this space. In the centre of the room, a heavy velvet sofa in a shade of midnight blue crouched like a great, slumbering beast, its carved claw feet sinking into the carpet's dense pile. A pair of high-backed chairs, upholstered in black leather, flanked a low table scarred by age and use, its surface cluttered with wax-dripped candlesticks, an open journal, and a silver hand mirror tarnished to a dull grey.

The windows, tall and arched like cathedral panes, are dressed in layers of velvet curtains, so dark that they appear black in dim light. The bright beams of sunlight spilling through, casting lines across the floor like ghostly fingers. The air was thick with the scent of old wood, wax, and a trace of something floral and faintly decayed, as if long-dead flowers still lingered in the room's breath.

Bird screeches echo through the space. She walks to the source of the horrid noise and picks up the phone.

"Hello, this is Christine Okoro. How may I assist you?" Christine answers.

"Hi Christine, this is George Hammond from Brown University. We need to discuss your abrupt departure—."

Christine hangs up the phone. The woman refuses to waste her time explaining what she has already done. Her enrollment in the University of Toronto is complete. Her old supervisor already knows, but the administration feels entitled to send her unnecessary forms.

Christine walks into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and takes out a slice of bread. She places the slice on a plate and walks to the tap. Christine grabs a glass cup and fills it halfway with water. She makes her way to the kitchen island and then prays.

Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum, adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie. Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen.

Christine grabs the cup and pours the water over the plate, soaking the bread. Once saturated, Christine eats the delicacy with her fingers. When nothing is left but the murky water, she brings the plate to her lips and sips the remnant in satisfaction. The loud slurps echo through the empty air.

Once Christine finishes her breakfast, she cleans the plate. The woman walks to her computer and types her thesis. A shiver runs down Christine's spine, so she decides to warm the room with the fireplace. She sparks a match and throws it into the fireplace.

Christine watches as it slowly grows and breathes life. The fire's red and orange swirls engulf the wood into its charred remains. The sight is hypnotising, but she manages to escape its trance and return to her laptop.

The beauty of the firelight cascades over Christine with crisp shadows. These shadows move and breathe as the flames flicker and flourish. The presence brings her peace. A whisper floats through the air, and like clockwork, tries taunting Christine.

Christine's heartbeat elevates.

The fire blurs. A throbbing pulse courses through her skull. She pushes her head back as the visions take over her again. Her eyes roll to the back of her head as her body stiffens.

Sand fills her living room from the walls. The roof opens with the bright sun. As this happens, the walls sink beneath the sandy terrains, and the distances fill with homes containing walls of wattles supported by wooden struts.

Christine feels her body elevate from the desert floor. In the distance, the towering figures roam the lands, destroying anything and everything in their path.

Below her is a defeated beast, lying lifeless on the ground. Metallic feathers scatter its body. Beside her, she can see the back of its head; the angel's head. It's heavy breathing wavers as he stares at his shaky fingers. Golden highlights infuse its brown mane.

The angel grips their hands before flying towards the huts, taking Christine. Once the angel lands, Christine looks around. She is back in the ancient village. She only saw it in glimpses; now the revelation reveals itself.

Her eyes remain over the shoulder of the angel. The obscurity of the figure's face is there, but she can feel the range of emotions he has: angry, sad, frustrated, disappointed, and determined.

The angel beams light, bringing attention to the disguised village men.

"Brothers! Stop taking these daughters of man as your wives. Must we stain our hands further with these corrupted births?" The angel calls out. The village men shout out in protest, and he sees Efer's familiar face in the crowd.

The angel flies down to the sand and slowly walks toward the fallen angel, pleading to the man who turned his back against God.

"Efer, my brother. Return with me to the heavens. Together, we can fight the Nephilim." The closer the angel gets, the more he can see the changes. Efer, once pure, is now marred and aged with sin. Deep hatred paints his eyes.

"How dare you, Kovesh? You destroyed my children!" He exclaims. The angel takes a deep breath as he gets closer.

"Your children decimated the villagers of Hebron. Their wickedness was beyond anything humanity has ever known. They were abominations," The angel's words speak nothing but the truth. However, his harsh words make the fallen angel feel angry.

Efer's hand reaches for something behind him. Before the angel can get away, the khopesh slices, not towards the angel, but towards Christine. The disconnection between her and the angel is severe.

Savoy feathers and blood surround her as she falls to the ground.

She looks up and sees the wounded angel flying away. Her gaze fixates on his incomplete wing, the last thing she sees before everything returns to black.

Christine's eyes return to normal. The woman releases shallow breaths as she frantically looks around. The remnants of the fire have died down, with the smouldering wood left behind. She wipes her brow and catches her breath. The bright beams from the outside world are absent, replaced by the night.

The woman sits in silence. The tick-tock of the clock fills the void.

It was all a dream.