Uriel took a step back, giving the painting in front of him a glance. He added some more red to the flames, then nodded, satisfied. The witch being burned seemed to be in true pain as the flames enveloped her.
Miracling his painting supplies away, he let out a small sigh. Apparently the only thing that would stay in his mind right now were images of destruction.
He shifted his eyes away from the red hair of the witch and its coppery shine in the light of the flames. No matter what he tried to tell to himself, a nagging voice in the back of his mind kept insisting that perhaps he hadn't chosen that particular colour for her hair just because of the old prejudices and superstitions that had made people assume many redheads to be witches.
There was a knock on the door, and he turned towards it. "Come in, Michael," he said.
The door was opened and Michael walked in, looking quite distracted. Or, more accurately, worried. This was a welcome change to his recent depression, but the worry disturbed Uriel even more. "What is it, Michael?" he asked.
Michael sighed. "I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know whether I'm just imagining things -- though I definitely hope so." He ran a hand through his blond hair. "I... I talked with Raphael, and... I'm worried about him." It sounded like making such an admission pained him.
Uriel sighed as well. "So I was not the only one noticing it, then," he said.
Michael bit his lip. "He talked about destroying Pestilence altogether," he told quietly. "I mean, I understand why he would think about such a thing. After all, he's a healer above anything else. To want to end humanity's suffering is certainly a fine and noble goal for an angel, but I don't think it's our right to just decide that one of the Horsepeople shouldn't be anymore. In the end it's Him who has sent them out into the world."
Uriel nodded slowly. "To me he talked about how there ought not to be war and destruction. There must be a way to reach peace without war, he said, and that way should be found. If it truly weren't necessary, why would He feel the need for angelic armies? Why would so many of the Host carry weapons?" To demonstrate his point he dropped a dagger into his hand from his sleeve, flipping it into the air before catching and hiding it again. "He wouldn't listen to me, though.
"An angel can be too compassionate," he continued. "Pain and sorrow are parts of human life, and that is because He has seen it good that way. It is good to desire to help, but inability to accept the fact that we can't always help may lead to dangerous things. Raphael is already questioning His will and doubting the necessity of his orders. That is a dangerous path."
"Exactly what I told him," Michael said with a sigh. "He -- he went into hysterics, Uriel, started screaming and yelling at me, angry and still scared out of his mind. Finally he shivered and chanted, ‘I will not Fall, I will not Fall.' If he hasn't even thought about it, why would he react in such a way?"
Uriel grimaced. He'd sometimes seen such behaviour. At times it got better after the angel was forced to realize that there truly was a danger of Falling. At other times, though... "And what did you do?" he asked quietly.
"Well, what could I?" asked Michael, again running a hand through his hair. "Of course I comforted him the best I could. I -- I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to him." Their gazes met, and in Michael's eyes Uriel saw an unspoken threat, as well as a prayer that they would never come to a confrontation about this.
Not wanting to dwell on that matter, Uriel just nodded slowly. "I think that's the best line of action in that situation," he told the other archangel. "Let's just hope that Raphael realizes what he's doing before it is too late." At this, his eyes flickered towards his sword, which stood in the corner, untouched ever since his arrival to the Manor. Even if there had been a need for a weapon -- what, thankfully, was something that had not come up yet -- he would have trusted his daggers anyway. He only used his sword for one thing nowadays, and he sincerely hoped it would stand in the corner until he left.
Michael followed his gaze and shivered, not missing the implications that went with that one outwardly innocent glance.
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Miracling his painting supplies away, he let out a small sigh. Apparently the only thing that would stay in his mind right now were images of destruction.
He shifted his eyes away from the red hair of the witch and its coppery shine in the light of the flames. No matter what he tried to tell to himself, a nagging voice in the back of his mind kept insisting that perhaps he hadn't chosen that particular colour for her hair just because of the old prejudices and superstitions that had made people assume many redheads to be witches.
There was a knock on the door, and he turned towards it. "Come in, Michael," he said.
The door was opened and Michael walked in, looking quite distracted. Or, more accurately, worried. This was a welcome change to his recent depression, but the worry disturbed Uriel even more. "What is it, Michael?" he asked.
Michael sighed. "I don't know," he confessed. "I don't know whether I'm just imagining things -- though I definitely hope so." He ran a hand through his blond hair. "I... I talked with Raphael, and... I'm worried about him." It sounded like making such an admission pained him.
Uriel sighed as well. "So I was not the only one noticing it, then," he said.
Michael bit his lip. "He talked about destroying Pestilence altogether," he told quietly. "I mean, I understand why he would think about such a thing. After all, he's a healer above anything else. To want to end humanity's suffering is certainly a fine and noble goal for an angel, but I don't think it's our right to just decide that one of the Horsepeople shouldn't be anymore. In the end it's Him who has sent them out into the world."
Uriel nodded slowly. "To me he talked about how there ought not to be war and destruction. There must be a way to reach peace without war, he said, and that way should be found. If it truly weren't necessary, why would He feel the need for angelic armies? Why would so many of the Host carry weapons?" To demonstrate his point he dropped a dagger into his hand from his sleeve, flipping it into the air before catching and hiding it again. "He wouldn't listen to me, though.
"An angel can be too compassionate," he continued. "Pain and sorrow are parts of human life, and that is because He has seen it good that way. It is good to desire to help, but inability to accept the fact that we can't always help may lead to dangerous things. Raphael is already questioning His will and doubting the necessity of his orders. That is a dangerous path."
"Exactly what I told him," Michael said with a sigh. "He -- he went into hysterics, Uriel, started screaming and yelling at me, angry and still scared out of his mind. Finally he shivered and chanted, ‘I will not Fall, I will not Fall.' If he hasn't even thought about it, why would he react in such a way?"
Uriel grimaced. He'd sometimes seen such behaviour. At times it got better after the angel was forced to realize that there truly was a danger of Falling. At other times, though... "And what did you do?" he asked quietly.
"Well, what could I?" asked Michael, again running a hand through his hair. "Of course I comforted him the best I could. I -- I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to him." Their gazes met, and in Michael's eyes Uriel saw an unspoken threat, as well as a prayer that they would never come to a confrontation about this.
Not wanting to dwell on that matter, Uriel just nodded slowly. "I think that's the best line of action in that situation," he told the other archangel. "Let's just hope that Raphael realizes what he's doing before it is too late." At this, his eyes flickered towards his sword, which stood in the corner, untouched ever since his arrival to the Manor. Even if there had been a need for a weapon -- what, thankfully, was something that had not come up yet -- he would have trusted his daggers anyway. He only used his sword for one thing nowadays, and he sincerely hoped it would stand in the corner until he left.
Michael followed his gaze and shivered, not missing the implications that went with that one outwardly innocent glance.