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[stds-r-4-lovers.livejournal.com]

Date: April 6th 2000 
Setting: Pestilence's room 
Status: Private (Pestilence and Uriel) 
Summary: If you love them... 

Pestilence was propped up in bed, pillows supporting his limbs and back. Most of the visible damage was healed, but there continued to be some problems with his internal organs, so he had spent the past few days hiding in his rooms. There had been a couple of nights where Uriel had come to his door, but he had been unwilling to answer, leaving the angel to stand silently in the hall while the horseman pretended to be out. There were two reasons he did this: First, he didn't want Uriel to see him like this. It hurt to think of Uriel seeing him as the old and feeble personification that he was. Second, and more importantly, he didn't want to be reminded of the angel's illness. Didn't want the reminder that he had caused the angel's attempt on his life.

Oh, yes. He was taking Wednesday's words very seriously. It made so much sense when he thought about it. Here had been this angel, already unstable, and what had he done? Pressed his advantage, pulled out his oily charm and seduced the gentle being when it was alone and sad and vulnerable. What kind of a creep was he? Exactly the kind of creep that Wednesday had described, really. And what did it matter that he was in love? Nothing when it was nearly killing the angel. Not when his influence had caused Uriel to almost end his existance.

It didn't take him long to make the final conclusion. What were his own desires when compared to the well-being of his angel? Just as Wednesday had told him to do, he knew he had to end it with Uriel. He had to let Uriel find happiness, not drag the being down further with this his illnesses and earthly engagements.

A letter, he decided, would be best. It wouldn't give him the chance to weaken. Wouldn't tempt him to simply pull the angel into an embrace, erase the truth of the situation with sweet words and good intentions. a letter, then, but he had to craft it in such a way that Uriel wouldn't blame himself. Wouldn't aggrevate the already delicate mental balance of his mind. Pen and pad held in shaky hands he began:

Dear Uriel,

This is not easy to write. But it is something that I must do. Uriel, I was not completely truthful to you during out time together. I didn't lie, not intentionally- but there were things that I didn't mention that I should have. First, Uriel, I never told you about my past. I have never been without company, I don't think I am surprising you by saying that. Yet I didn't tell you the extent of some of these relationships. Uriel, what I'm getting at is, well, Uriel, I'm sort of married. I have been since 1900. She was very special to me. She singlehandedly caused the sickness of nearly a hundred people, all before the age of 30. Her name was Mary Mallon and she had beautiful dark hair. And gorgeous green eyes.

You see Uriel, I've come to realize that my love for you was actually my love for her. It is surprising how you two looked so similar, and, somehow I managed to convince myself that you were her. That isn't fair to you. You deserve to be loved for who and what you are, not for whom you just happen to resemble.

I'm a bad being, Uriel. You don't want anything to do with me. I'll only make your problems worse. Please, don't blame yourself for anything, its been entirely my fault. I should have been upfront with both you and myself before I caused so much damage. I am truly sorry for all that I have done.

Sincerely,

Pestilence

Ok, so most of it was a lie, but anything to keep Uriel from blaming himself. The poor angel.

Calling a rat out from the wall (this wasn't something that he wanted Mr. Sniffles to know about) he handed the letter into the rats little mouth, who scampered carefully away and to Uriel's door.

Falling into the cushions he felt one more organ break, this time not needing the forceful blows of an enraged war god. No, all it had taken was the idea hat he would never be happy again.

Comments

[bipolar-uriel.livejournal.com]

Uriel was getting worried. He hadn't seen Pestilence for a week, and whenever he went to knock on the personification's door, Pestilence appeared to be out. There was no response to his calls, and he was lonely.

Chirpy had to bear most of his worry and loneliness, of course. He didn't really feel comfortable telling Wednesday about his feelings; there was absolutely no telling how the old god would react to hearing about his relationship with Pestilence. Chirpy, however, was a patient and understanding listener. He never interrupted or offered advice.

He was talking to Chirpy when a rat arrived, carrying a note. For a moment he wondered why it wasn't Mr. Sniffles bearing the letter, but figured that Pestilence's dear pet was too busy. He took the letter and started to read, hoping to get some kind of an explanation.

As he finished reading he crumbled the letter, throwing it to the other end of the room.

It hurt. It hurt so very much. Yet, for once, he didn't feel like taking it out on himself; rather he felt a very unangelic urge to go and harm Pestilence as badly as he could. Heal him as well as his powers allowed, perhaps. Make him pay for the pain he had caused. This time, he knew that the pain was not his fault, couldn't be his fault. Pestilence had caused it all.

And yet, he could do nothing of the sort. Not only because Adam wouldn't allow, but also because he simply couldn't bring any harm to Pestilence. Despite having been deceived he still loved the horseman too much to even imagine any damage coming to him, especially by his own hand.

However, he had to do something. He couldn't hurt Pestilence, however much he may have wanted to at the moment, and he wouldn't hurt himself, wouldn't allow the horseman's deception to cause any more damage. He couldn't just silently bear the pain either, though. Perhaps talking with Wednesday would help...

No. He knew all too well what Wednesday would do to Pestilence. And besides, he didn't want to talk about it to anyone. Not yet. It hurt still too much.

So he resembled some woman Pestilence had once loved, then? Well, he could change that. He could make sure he resembled nobody Pestilence had ever met.

The change was fast. Floor came nearer as his size decreased, bones rearranged themselves, wings burst out while his arms faded to his body. White robes made way to black feathers.

Luckily the window had been open. The raven could freely rush out of the Manor, shrieking its pain when human words were not enough.