Michael winced a bit. Raphael spreading his wings felt like a physical blow. Just a moment earlier the other archangel had been talking with him more openly than in ages, and now he was again separating them.
Raphael's words about Pestilence made him feel uneasy. Ignoring limitations? Destroying something He had set to be, questioning its purpose? Something inside him told that such talking was simply wrong, that it was not allowed. Might Raphael be... slipping? Such a thought filled him with dread, and he closed it out of his mind quickly. Still he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling, and chose not to comment, not wanting to dwell on the topic anymore.
However, Raphael's questiong definitely deserved an answer. For a moment he thought about it, and was even himself slightly surprised at the answer he finally came up with. "I don't know when exactly," he told Raphael. "It was kind of a gradual thing, I think. However, I do know for sure that I haven't thought of you simply as a friend for at least two thousand years." He did know that. He could still remember himself admiring Raphael's shining coppery locks and brilliant smile in the holy light of the first Christmas. Oh, his love for the healer was not a new thing by any means.
"And as for how... How could I not? You've always been so sweet and intelligent. Beautiful, too. When I think about it, I'm quite surprised I didn't fall in love with you even earlier than I did. Or perhaps I did and just didn't recognize my feelings for what they were. And is it even possible to tell how or why one comes to love another?
"I never told anybody about it," he continued, the answer to the question already given but words still spilling from his mouth. "Uriel figured it out on himself, though -- I think that was some time around the downfall of Rome. On my insistence he agreed not to say a word about it to anybody else. Apparently he found the whole thing somehow amusing."
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Raphael's words about Pestilence made him feel uneasy. Ignoring limitations? Destroying something He had set to be, questioning its purpose? Something inside him told that such talking was simply wrong, that it was not allowed. Might Raphael be... slipping? Such a thought filled him with dread, and he closed it out of his mind quickly. Still he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling, and chose not to comment, not wanting to dwell on the topic anymore.
However, Raphael's questiong definitely deserved an answer. For a moment he thought about it, and was even himself slightly surprised at the answer he finally came up with. "I don't know when exactly," he told Raphael. "It was kind of a gradual thing, I think. However, I do know for sure that I haven't thought of you simply as a friend for at least two thousand years." He did know that. He could still remember himself admiring Raphael's shining coppery locks and brilliant smile in the holy light of the first Christmas. Oh, his love for the healer was not a new thing by any means.
"And as for how... How could I not? You've always been so sweet and intelligent. Beautiful, too. When I think about it, I'm quite surprised I didn't fall in love with you even earlier than I did. Or perhaps I did and just didn't recognize my feelings for what they were. And is it even possible to tell how or why one comes to love another?
"I never told anybody about it," he continued, the answer to the question already given but words still spilling from his mouth. "Uriel figured it out on himself, though -- I think that was some time around the downfall of Rome. On my insistence he agreed not to say a word about it to anybody else. Apparently he found the whole thing somehow amusing."