9 - Azal

       Oh, Meres has outdone himself once again! The dècor is exquisite, even by his remarkably high standards. He has decorated the main ballroom to appear as a palace under the sea, an Atlantean wonderland, awash in blue and the strange, vibrant colors of undersea life. The chandelier overhead is positively dripping with the brightest crystal, long strands of carefully cut pieces dangling as drops of water - water which seems to hang in midair, as a thousand tiny fairy-lights are scattered about the room, the tiniest lanterns I have ever seen strung about everywhere. And the light is reflected a thousand times again, for there is crystal and fine glass and diamonds everywhere, every surface sparkling as if kissed by dew. The ceiling has been hung with vast swathes of silk and tulle and satin, in shimmering shades of cerulean, azure, amethyst, jade, and a thousand tones in between. The walls are similarly covered, all the way to the floor, draping over the various doorways and arches as well, with more transparent fabrics, which one may pass through as through the mist of a waterfall. Diamonds have been threaded to hang glittering in bursts of sparkling foam and bubbles, hanging from the ceiling and every available place they might gain purchase - the stem of every glass has tied to it a delicate strand of that most lovely of stones. The illusion is carried through to every detail - one would expect no less from Meres! - all the way down to the utensils on the buffet tables, which are shaped to look as bits of coral, the napkins, which are green and filmy, as seaweed. The music is a solo piano just now, generally slow, and gentle, with soft gradations of volume and tone, as the gentle motion of waves, the sparse melodies leaving notes hanging glistening in the air.
       As I move into the room, I am startled by a bit of moisture bursting onto my sleeve - and then look to see a young girl, perhaps fourteen, dressed quite convincingly as a mermaid, and holding a dish of soapy water in her hand, a loop of fine wire in the other. She is seated on a brightly-colored rock, and giggles at my surprise. "Welcome, kind sir," she says politely, her violet eyes sparkling. "Do be cautioned, that one may not remain dry and be a part of our realm."
       I smile down at her, amused, and enchanted by her strange loveliness. Truly, she does not look as one who walks upon the land - her hair is a strange shade of blue-violet, and falls in languid damp curls. Her skin is greenish, but it does not look unhealthy, rather it appears as though it is a healthy flush, only of pale jade instead of light rose. Her lashes are long, and at the end of each is a sparkling bead, I do not know of what. She is clad in some diaphanous material, of the same spectrum as the fabrics which drape the room, and she wears a long strand of pearls, each a different size and slightly different shade - as though she had, in play, picked them up from the ocean floor, and strung them together with childish carelessness.
       We were instructed to come dressed as for a bal masqué, but with a somewhat limited pallete - we had theorized about the theme, of course, from the colors, but as ever, his artistic vision could not have been guessed. It makes for such a lovely setting, though, for though the costumes are of diverse style, the unifying colors make all awash in a glittering spray of ocean water, a thousand sparkling shades blending together and separating again, glistening beneath the warm filtered light. There are lush feathers and sparkling gems, intricate brocades and extravagant swathes of silks and crepes, fountains of lace bubbling up at throats and sleeves. Ah, the delights of costume! For here there is no fear of being out of fashion, here the wildest dreams of what might make for some sort of vision, however lovely or chilling, may be realized.
       A serving-girl, dressed as... not a mermaid, for her feet are visible, but a naiad I suppose, for her long hair is streaked with jade, and her flesh is tinged with aquamarine and lavender, her eyes the sparkling green of a young stream. "May I offer you a drink, sir?" she asks sweetly, waving one hand toward the serving-tray she holds aloft in the other, full of glasses with some concoction of luminescent celadon.
       "Thank you, dear," I reply, taking a glass in hand. "Do tell me, where is our host? I should like to congratulate him on the lovely setting he has produced."
       She glances about, considering. "I do believe he is near the piano. Or that is where I left him, though the current may have drawn him elsewhere." Her eyes sparkle with, what? Excitement, I believe, or perhaps it is only self-satisfaction with her own ability to play her role so well. In any event she does seem to be enjoying herself, and that seems somehow fitting - I do not think spirits of the water should be somber.
       I make my way gradually toward the piano, looking about myself in admiration every moment. It is a great novelty to me just now, to be so surrounded by cool colors, and the mysterious glimmers of underwater. I have been so long in the deserts, tending to my residence there... It is lovely there as well, of course, where everything is rich and leisurely indulgence, the colors warm and spices strong. But my time spent there makes this party all the more unique, for there is a different sort of subtlety about the water than there is in flame. It is deeper, I think, and holds a different sort of darkness. There is sensuality in both, but the water is gentler than the fire... more womanly, perhaps, for it is full of curves and softness, slow rolling surges and ebbs. Things are silver here, where I have seen only gold, blue in place of red.
       "Azal!"
       I smile warmly, and embrace Meres, kissing his cheeks. "Ah, my dearest Meres, how wonderful the place looks! I cannot stop looking about me for a moment, there is such attention to detail - it is a grand success, even for you."
       He smiles proudly back, lifting his chin as he looks around, evidently quite pleased. "Yes, I am quite satisfied I think. Of course an artist is never fully content with his own work - isn't that so, Claude dear?"
       There is laughter, and a young man with dark curls and darker eyes looks shyly up at Meres. "You are quite right... but you understand, then, why the painting you requested of me has taken so long?"
       "Ah, darling, I do. I am simply anxious to see it! I have such high hopes in your talent, and while there will be all the time in the world to view it, I am still eager."
       The boy beams, his cheeks flushing with the praise. This is the first I have seen him, but I have gathered a bit of information on him from various letters and visitors in the past month or so. Meres seems quite fond of him due to his abilities; Luce seems to be engaged by him as well (a somewhat rare and always curious thing), apparently due to some unusual relationships the boy has gotten himself into - a priest, even, I have heard! But one never quite knows when to trust what one hears, especially when there are humans involved, for their memories are really terribly inaccurate. But he seems a fair enough thing, if a bit scheming. I like intelligence, of course, and wit, but I prefer to have those who are beneath my station, act as such. Something in this boy's eyes shows me a hint of presumptuousness, which I really would not have the patience for, though I am sure others find it amusing. Yet there is a naïveté to him still, so I suppose he would not be entirely poor company. Still, I shall leave him for Meres and Luce and whoever else. I am far more interested by the water-girls Meres has employed this evening, they really are of exceeding loveliness.
       I stay awhile and catch myself up on the latest gossip, laughing and jesting with the rest. Veri makes an appearance, and I am glad to see that he looks rather well. Of course it may merely be that his outfit flatters him so well - he is wrapped in shades of green and pale blue, with gentle streaks of blue in his still predominantly light-colored hair. (I must wonder, has he found some dye or bleach to keep it so? For I have tried a thousand things, and yet cannot bring such paleness back into my hair... and his hair retains a shine as well, so it cannot be anything so harsh as my hair would seem to need.) Luce glides into the conversation briefly, to murmur something secretively into Meres' ear, before slipping away again. It is only some minutes later that I notice the boy, Claude, has gone as well - undoubtedly this is not a coincidence.
       Meres calls over a serving-girl, requesting another round of drinks for everyone. She returns in a moment, and hands around the shimmering glasses, the diamonds tinkling lightly against the crystal. As she hands me a glass, her eyes meet mine, and I am immediately drawn to them. The deepest sapphires, sparkling darkly with mystery and silent experience, and they gaze into mine with a delicious mixture of desire and... not apprehension, it is nervousness but an excited one, the tingling sensation of great things expected. When her tray is empty, she moves slowly away... but she does not go far. She pauses at some little distance, glancing back to see if I am following her.
       I believe I shall.
       I slip silently away from the group, they are too engaged in conversation to take much notice, and in any event know well the value of discretion. If I chose to make my encounters private, then they will grant me that privilege (At least until morning, when all hints of any remotely interesting story will rapidly become fodder for discussion.)
       She moves deftly through the crowd, moving first toward the discrete alcove where the servant's supplies are held, to deposit the tray. She does not look behind her again, knowing I am there. I for my part keep a slight distance, that it may appear I am merely walking among the throng at random. It is an obvious game, but I should like to allow her to keep the scrap of mystery about her for a little longer, I find it quite enticing.


       When she has passed through one of the veiled archways that lead from the room, she pauses and waits for me. She stands off to one side, watching me, with a look of... feigned demureness, I think. As if she would gladly take the lead, but knows she ought to wait for a sign from me.
       Amused, I give it. I nod, smiling invitingly. "Lead me where you wish, dear."
       She raises an eyebrow, her face brightening with the loosening of constraint I have granted her. Her sapphire eyes glint with promise, and---
       She does not take me by the hand, but by the wrist.
       Such a small simple thing, but what a show of dominance is caught within it! Quite subtle yet incredibly pointed; she is skilled at her play. I have not yet decided if I shall allow her to maintain this apparent dominance, or if we shall make a game of forcing it out. But there is quite time enough to let things unfold, and decide new direction from wherever they seem to lead. I am in no hurry this evening.
       She guides me through a strange series of passageways - turning often, and soon growing quite narrow. I am not familiar with this building - in fact I am not even sure if Meres owns it, or has merely borrowed it for the evening, I have been so long away! - but it occurs to me that these must be the servants' passageways, designed to be hidden from sight yet connected to all rooms, that the servants may move swift and unseen to wherever they are bidden. A part of me is disgusted, to be moving between walls which were designed to conceal the lower, menial classes. Yet at the same time, I am excited by the thought, I suppose there is some thrill in the novelty of it, as well as the taboo. It is as if I were to walk through the streets of my desert city, shrouded in the black veils of pious women - being myself a man, and, oh earthly delights so far from pious!
       She does not speak, and her slippered feet are silent on the carpeted floor, so that the only sound is the faint rustling of the crêpe and organza and lace and silk she is clad in. For all of the many fabrics she is draped in, she ought to look altogether bundled up, but ah, Meres! Your artistry is flawless. The material is so arranged that it seems as mere waves of water, brushing against her, light and transparent, leaving behind small pieces of seaweed to wrap gracefully around her slim form, scattering droplets over all, which glitter in the light. Her skin is tinged with cerulean, her hair is a dark violet. I would suppose that such effects were achieved with help from Mephisto's theater connections, only the colors seem of such a different quality from the heavy greasepaint of the stage---
       Ah! But I will not dissect the creation of such a creature! I should destroy the novelty by doing so, and it is the novelty which is so appealing. Mere sex, I have had so many thousand times... but with a water spirit, now that is something new, even to me. Ah, Meres, you are a wonder! For not only have these girls the appearance, but also the proper character for the part. I am borne upon rapids, and know not toward what end I am carried...
       She takes a key from - where? I had not thought there was any place of concealment in such a frothy bit of clothing! She opens a door, and locks it again when we have entered - leaving the key in the lock, that it may not be misplaced in the passions which will ensue. (There is such an air of sharp intelligence about this girl; I am certain she was hired this evening for the services I am now employing her in, rather than mere food service or cleaning, or even simple decoration, though she should do well at any.)
       The room is - not surprisingly - all in shades of blue, decorated in a fashion similar to the ballroom. But it is darker, there are fewer diamonds and more swashes of rich violet, even to hints of crimson in the deepest shadows. The room is not very small, but it is made to feel so, with heavy wall hangings and the dark colors, all in a low, diffused light. (The window is blocked by thick drapes of crushed velvet.) The effect is that of a hidden grotto, a private subterranean cave, a place not to be discovered by any man.
       The bed is a low one, large and circular, and as the girl sits upon it, I see that the mattress is filled with water, or some other liquid. For the whole bed is set in motion bu her movement, low waves rippling over its surface. Oh what a thing! I shall really have to congratulate Meres, this evening is truly spectacular.
       And I see right away that this peculiar sort of mattress shall provide all sorts of lovely additions to our forthcoming activities.
       She curls one slender finger, beckoning me toward her. I move closer, but stand just out of her reach, curious as to what she will do.
       Smiling mischievously - almost smirking! - she lies back on her elbows, and extends her long legs toward me. They are able to reach me, and her delicate slippered feet pull me closer, her legs gradually wrapping around my waist.
       I like this one, she is both creative and determined. I let myself be pulled close, trailing my fingertips lightly over her slim and well-formed legs - but what form would a spirit chose to take, but that of perfection? Certainly we did, although after so many years, even our arts begin to fail, and---
       I leap onto the bed, grabbing her, pulling her form close to me, kissing silent her yelp of surprise, my hands running hungrily over every inch of her, delighting in the curve of her hips, the smoothness of her back, the softness of her breasts, pressing my hands hard against her, as if to sink into her youthful skin, losing my aging body in the perfection of hers...
       Her body writhes in a most delicious fashion, curling and arching and spreading, as graceful as seaweed fluttering in an underwater breeze. The waves of the bed press away from and back against us, rushing away under us, pressing into us and pushing us closer still... She pushes my jacket off my shoulders, I force her onto her stomach to find the clasps of her dress - they are hidden on her back, Meres always designs such things to be invisible so as not to distract in any way from the clothing, but easy to remove if one knows what to look for. (After so many years, I well know what to look for.) The dress is a single piece - all she wears now is the slippers and the delicate vine of tiny pearls and gemstones at her neck. I leave the necklace there (the slippers will come free soon enough of their own accord), for it looks quite lovely against her aquamarine skin, and brings out the greenish highlights of her eyes. I give scarcely a thought to the fact that the color of her skin is consistent over all her body. The illusion has been made with such care and detail, that I am able to let myself believe it. (Oh, my gratitude to you, Meres!) The long strands of her violet hair trickle down across her shoulders, and wind delicate patterns over the sheets and pillows beneath her. Her slender fingers unbutton my shirt, my pants, pushing them free of me, replacing the cool fabric with the heat of her mouth, her teeth and tongue tearing pleasure from every inch of my skin. I fall back, and let her ravish me for awhile, throwing all my thought into this moment, this pleasure, letting myself be caught by the naiad's net. I am in her domain now, and subject to her laws and whims - though only, of course, so far as I desire to be, for she is yet a creation of mere earth, and though she may stand above mortal man, she is yet beneath me... though, I suppose not at just this moment, is she so in the literal sense.
       She forces me onto my stomach, pressing her full length against my back, rubbing her body against mine - teasing me, moving just as she would were I turned to face her, and myself inside her. I life myself against her, delighting in the feel of her warm body curling around mine, clinging to me with such hunger for a satisfaction she cannot reach without me. Though she has the illusion of control, she knows it truly rests with me. But I shall let her play...
       Her fingers and tongue have by now found my most sensitive places, having sought them ceaselessly out all this time. She makes full use of them now, scraping her fingernails teasingly against my chest, drawing so near the sensitive places and then dancing quickly away; her tongue darting lightly over the small of my back, lapping hotly at my skin, skimming slowly along the crease - then darting quickly away. My breath comes in gasps, my every nerve alert and begging, pleading for more still more, aching for consummation and yet reveling in the heated yearning which floods all through me... Ah, the pleasures of the flesh! What wonders are to be found here, among the intricate interplay of nerve and chemical, flesh and thought, perception and response. There is still newness to be found here, for though the sensations have come and gone for thousands of years, the touch of every person holds in it some new subtlety, a different scent a different texture of flesh, a different heat of the mouth and touch...
       I am again on my back, and she holds her body low over mine, electricity darting through the humid heat of the air between us. Her skin is flushed, turning it a warm violet. Her hair hangs in damp curls - moist now from the sweat of our entangled bodies, the salt of our skin replacing the salt of the sea. One hand runs lightly over my slick chest, her touch almost tender... Then she lowers herself onto me in one swift motion, her nails drawing blood from my hips, and our voices at last fly free from our throats with the rapture of pleasure redoubled in intensity, all our sense focused on those places in which that strongest of ecstasy is contained, as we reach desperately toward it, our bodies refusing to be held back. No silent seaspirit in woman's form is she, I have set free her siren song...

       It is not long after when we collapse into the waves, our bodies exhausted and still tingling, as we float on the echoing ripples of our pleasure. Sighing deeply, she rolls back toward me, draping her limbs leisurely over me. A low sigh of contentment rumbles from me in answer, and I roll into the waves, resting on my stomach and letting the low ripples massage my front side. It is such a soothing sensation, the gentle motion stroking my still-tingling skin, passing soft hands over it, rubbing away the last jittery explosions from my nerves...
       I am startled suddenly from the doze into which I had fallen, my body tensing hard and rigid. Startled, I open my eyes and force my thoughts back into awareness, trying to sort out what had woken me. She lays beside me, one leg curled around mine, her fingers tracing lightly over my back---
       Her fingers tracing a pattern I recognize, one that sends my heart plummeting into depths I had tried to hard to forget, once I realize what it is.
       I sit bolt upright, sending her tumbling aside, and I reel on her, my eyes flashing dangerously. "Do not touch that!" I boom commandingly, my voice deep and threatening, my body flushing in angry flame.
       She blinks up at me, her eyes dull with languor and blank with confusion, not even fear having quite reached her yet. (So much for the intelligence I thought I saw! But it is my own fault, for having allowed the illusion such control.) "Why not? It is a lovely tattoo, so detailed! I have always---"
       I slap her face, growling threateningly, and she becomes silent, her brow creased with confusion, her lips in a pout and her violet eyes sparkling with sudden moisture. What do I care for her! She is a mere plaything, there are countless others to be had. I have done with this one, she has lost her novelty and thus her appeal.
       "It is no mere decoration," I mutter darkly, leaning over the side of the bed and finding my clothing. "It is a hateful thing, and I will not speak of it."
       "Oh, no! Do not put your shirt over it, I wish to see it!"
       My eyes widen and I whirl on her, almost too furious to speak. "Bλακαϛ! Have I not told you to let it be! Al ta'atzben otti, for you are made of nothing but the dust on the ground, you have no claim to my attentions. Leave me."
       She hesitates, still confused, but the fear finally taking hold. How did I ever believe she was intelligent! What a ridiculous child she is. "Láttu mig í friði! I wish to be alone, and I certainly no longer desire your company."
       She swallows hard - I think the miserable little thing is actually offended! Oh gracious Meres, have you not learned to train these girls? You did such a lovely job on their appearance and personality, but you seem to have neglected a few things... But she does leave, sliding her dress back over her head - though leaving it unfastened, for she cannot reach it herself, and would not dare now ask for my assistance. Striapach. Let her leave in disarray, and be seen thus in shame. As she reaches for the doorknob, she notices the key still in the lock. She pulls it free and throws it onto the floor behind her, then slams the door after her exit.
       I chuckle tiredly to myself, falling back onto the bed, letting the waves swell around me. What a ridiculous little child, so hurt by something so simple... the fact that she had presumed herself more than just an evening's bit of pleasure was quite a laughable mistake. I do not care to learn more of her, and certainly I will not see her again, for she will not return and we should not allow her to. Oh children of earth, what egotistic follies you stumble so easily into!
       And oh, what chasms you knock us back into, when you so stumble, your clumsy motions destroying our balance and sending us tumbling down... I know better than to fight the memories which are struggling against the barriers I have set against them. They will do nothing but plague me until they are let run rampant for a time... and the evening is yet young, there will be time enough to catch them again, and bind them back into the dark place where they will not trouble me.
       I turn onto my stomach, burying my face in the gentle silk sheets. My throat grows tight, and I feel my body curl up, then stretch out abruptly in a spasm of pain, as memory sets my flesh aflame. There is darkness, darkness which seeps into my blood, my blood which already runs so dark, it ran so dark, the blood flowing into my wings and staining my feathers, turning all to blackness and decay...

       The darkness had consumed me, had eaten away my wings, they had fallen from me in hideous clumps of putrid decay, the black feathers staining the ground around me. Once, endur fyrir löngu, I had not felt pain; if a feather was caught and pulled away from me, it was nothing. My body was transient, it would come and go and change if I willed it, I had only to will it and it obeyed, it was not bound by the physical constraints of this strange little realm, a world of His whimsy, and, really, His folly... for what sort of existence can come from a construct so bizarre? Who could cobble together spirit with mere flesh, and expect anything at all to come of it?
       But so He had, and we were curious, and so set to watch over these ridiculous little bastard creatures. Yet as obviously subservient as they should have been, there was something about this world of theirs which intrigued us... something which drew us ever-closer... there seemed to be so many new things, always popping up almost unbidden, all over this odd little earth... such newness, such novelty! Our curiosity led us back again and again, and we allowed our bodies to become substantial enough to feel the strange new things which mankind created... and we were captivated, there was such beauty here! And such beauty that we, with our knowledge of All Things, could create, if only we had not to have our every motion heeded by that One with such absurdly concrete rules about every last thing...
       And my memory is washed dry after all these years, I have only faded remnants, for Time has chipped away at us, as we never thought it could... we grow old, though we remain young, we grow weary, though we still walk. Oh that we yet had our wings, and could pull our aching feet from this dirty ground! But wings are not permitted in the world of men, and they were taken from us, taken with such pain and such torment... the pain has washed away all the pleasure that led to it, I do not remember, I---
       No I do not remember, urusai! I will let this ancient lament pass through me, but I will not think of that, I will not remember.
       Ensnared by gravity, we are bound now to this earth, and none know what shall become of us when it passes away, we dare not think of it we---
       I will not think of it! I have torment enough in the present, I do not need to think of what future hell--- oh but that is the answer there, of course, for there is no hope for such as us. Mankind has had its Saviour, we have seen Him come and go, and He held no message of promise for us. (Though you, you! You divooneh, ridiculous little half-breeds, that you should dismiss so lightly the very coming of God! We find it terribly amusing, that so many have decided Christ was a mere teacher, someone with a few apt comments, and easy advice which could be turned into pithy sayings to quote amongst family. Oh you wretched little fools!)
       I feel the scars on my back tug at the skin surrounding - they have never really healed, such huge gashes that were left on me... and I tried, oh, I tried, I---

       We, who have all the time in the world, soon grew weary of the world. This endless drag of Time! It sucks dry all the newness of things, turning all things old and tired, destroying all new and novel things the moment we touch them.
       We have lived in every city, dined at every court, we have tasted the pleasure of every age, and seek endlessly for the next. For novelty is our only merciful friend, pushing from our minds, of only for a moment, that torment which is out existence. Pleasure is all we seek, that it might banish for a moment our thousand pains...
       But oh, my wings! My feet grew so tired, my legs stumble, and I have so longed to feel again the rush of air and expanse of the sky... I am caged by gravity, which quells the song of every bird; gravity which tries every moment to pull me to the earth, and grind my face into the dust, but such is not my place! I was born before the stars took breath, it is the children that are Men who belong to the dust.
       And my wings were so lovely... the largest of anyone's, radiant in the sunlight, the feathers so soft against my skin... and against her skin, oh temptress Eve! that thy daughters should be so cruel! She wrapped herself in my wings, pressed her perfect body to mine, my wings draped gently around us both, ensconcing is in a world of quiet, soft white, a world no-one else would see, a world where only we were needed, for she so fully engaged all my thought in her strange and enticing newness...
       Ah, that I could be so careless! So new to the physical realm was I, so little did I know... and that cursed child was born and all was changed. Cast into darkness, out children twisted and abhorred, and soon slaughtered out of existence.
       Yet we remained.
       And our eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness of this realm, we grew to see in this shadow of a world... and we found comfort here, of a sort. Oh, but not true comfort, only distraction, all is and ever will be mere distraction from our shame, our pain, why have we lived so long! We bleed, our fragile flesh tears, our wings are long-gone, yet we will not die. I once felt these lungs could no longer draw breath, I had counted a million inhalations and knew that I had taken billions before, and I did not see that my body could continue its ceaseless labor. A body was not made to live so long. And my lungs ached, they were clogged and dirtied by the air of so many cities of men, breathing in the grime and stale exhalations, stagnant in the heavy air so near the ground. I knew I must die, or find some way to clear the pollution from my lungs. I traveled to the highest mountains, where the air loses some of its weight, but even there gravity chained me, and I could feel it pulling at me, warring with me against every inhalation, holding me still close to the ground of dust. I grew so weak, my lungs felt so heavy, I needed my wings! I had to leave this earth, I had to wrest this body free of its grasp. I needed my flight restored, I needed to breathe the clear, bright air...
       I sought devices made by of the most brilliant among men, but none could sustain the weight of this wretched body. I suffered the fate of Icarus a thousand times, I fell from the sky again and again, each fall an echo of that first and most horrible one... (Though at least I suffered no pain when these false wings were destroyed! Oh that agony which haunts me still!)
       The mathematical sciences of men were desperately lacking, they had not the scope to address all issues at once. Oh that damnable creation of Time! If only it did not so bind me, I knew that I should find my answers... but I could not wait for Man to learn all he needed to learn. My agony grew worse every moment, and none could resolve my pain, none could free my chest of its stiff constraint.
       I turned to the realm of spirits, for I knew they were not bound by man's limitations. But I had been too long on the earth, and could no longer call as loudly as I once could... oh that ease which I once had with such things! To call upon the spirits working the heavens and earth and stars and hell, and to have them answer my every request, with scarcely a thought and certainly without effort.
       But that is a skill which physical beings have to learn, and my body had abandoned the talent it once knew. We had, long ago, taught men some art which could in time approximate our once-latent ability. We had often laughed at their feeble attempts, at the ease with which devils convinced them they spoke with angels. But ah, it was such a beautiful art we created for them, filled with ritual and elaborate signs... incredibly difficult, really, but purposely so. Whenever they seemed to have about learned it, we added another detail to the ritual, another line to the drawing, adding more and more complex elements and rules, simply to see where they would give up in frustration and fail! But Man is such an odd beast, he is able to learn far more than we had expected. Finally we grew tired of the game, and left them to devise their own additional routes, for we had thought them enough to begin.
       I found that they had expanded greatly upon that initial art, and it had changed so much that I could recognize very little of it. The symbols and elements, the words, even the purposes had changed in the passage of generations.
       But I made my way along the secret hierarchies, until I had found one who promised to be the most adept of any in several generations. I could wait no longer, I went to him and gave him my command.
       I wanted my wings returned to me.
       He spent years in research, and I gave him every aid I could devise. He learned more from me than he had in all his long years of study - for I knew the very origins of that strange power he sought, I had helped to create the very channels through which he reached. I had drawn the symbols from which all his were derived. I had lived among the very stars through which he charted his paths, I had breathed in that rarefied air of a realm his fingertips only brushed against...
       And there are none who better understand the speech of spirits than a spirit itself, and I had been so long among men that I could act as a perfect translator between the two. Though I no longer had the power to reach into that stream of pure existence, I could interpret what he found there, I knew the directions in which to seek.
       Sacrifice was made, years were lost, materials and wealth were consumed, and I watched the man age before me. (Such a wretched process! The One who created such a thing has a truly warped sense of aesthetics.) And at last the paths were laid, and the words written out, and the angles and intersections measured. We made ready every preparation, lit the candles in the proper order with the proper incantations, and the maps were laid on the floor for the spirits to follow and be caught between.
       I could feel the spirits grow thick in the room, not a heaviness as of dust but as one of spice and incense, only lighter, as the empyrean air of the mountaintops. My heart raced, my lungs drew breath eagerly, and I tasted the first hint of that clear, celestial air I had sought for so long... ah, how my soul yearned so to immerse itself in it! And it grew so near!
       I was laid on the table, and he drew the symbols on my back, incising the skin and pouring in the ink, that the patterns became a part of my flesh, binding the energies together. The pain was nothing to that which I had felt for such millenia, and I scarcely noticed it, so drunk was I with the nearness of that other plane of being. I could hear the voices of the spirits swirling about us, so faintly but I could hear them again after so long! I wept with the nearness of them, as a mother weeps to see again her children after some separation...
       ...though I should not use such a phrase, not knowing myself what it is to have children. For I never knew that child she bore from me, we were swept apart so soon, and I gave it no thought in those days.
       The paths were laid on my back, the intricate patterns drawn, which should make a path into the past and into places intangible, and draw out again that which I had lost.
       He continued his low chant, the words in tongues he had not known, which I taught him carefully until he spoke them as smoothly as one who had known them all his life. Ancient words, words which Man had forgotten but I had not, for I had brought them into being so long ago. Streams were stirred which had not been disturbed in long generations, and the air grew brighter, thinner, and I do not know if my heart beat faster or if it stopped altogether in its rapture. He breathed heavily, his lungs unused to such atmosphere, but it did not matter for the words were nearly said, I could feel the motion of unseen things tangling in the inscriptions upon my back, I could feel the strange frigid heat of them, the effervescent flames, and again I wept for the joy which seemed so near, and the anticipation I could no longer stand.
       He gasped out the last words, and collapsed to the floor, his breath stolen away by the rush of unearthly air, the spirits flooding the small room, and oh I was again among them! I danced again among the stars my brothers and they laughed for joy at my return, and my wings unfurled, oh the glory of their expanse! Muscles were open again which had been so long unused, I was no longer crippled, oh to be so set free! Εὐαί! My body free and unconstrained! And I soared I soared through open skies...
       And then the laughter changed.
       There was a flash as of lightening, and the smell of scorched atmosphere, and I vomited from the stench of my wings rotting from me no no no not again not again this can not be! I screamed and clutched at the feathers which fell around me but they rotted in my hands and my skin was coated in the slick grime of their decay, I fell I fell and the spirits laughed in derision and perverse mirth, taunting me as I plummeted from them, my eyes cast in vain around me for some sign but all was the scarlet of blood and the black of decay, the room was in flames and blood mixed with the ink in my flesh and all was stench and terror and agony---

       It is some time before I am able to end the uncontrollable weeping, which shakes my body and tears my lungs and burns my eyes. I am exhausted by memory and the expurgation of feelings which it always, always brings forth. I am so tired... oh that wretched girl, to have forced me through it all again! I shall certainly have some torment of even worse degree thrust upon her for this.
       ...oh but what worth would it have, nothing could be worse than the shame in which my existence is buried. I have tried every device known, and nothing will remove the stains upon my back, they shall remain with me as long as the scars they cover. There is nothing to be done.
       And so I sigh, and wipe the streams of tears from my face, and compose myself. I find a hidden bell pull, and ring for a servant. I shall have a glass or two of wine to refresh myself, and then rejoin the fête - I am certain to be missed by now, and am certain to be missing things of interest myself. I shall find diversion there, I am sure, Meres is so wonderful at providing entertainments, and really, the room was too lovely, it would be a shame not to enjoy its splendors this evening.
       I shall never truly forget my pains, but I can hide them away again for a time, covering them over with some little pleasure or another... Broðum og drekkum saddir, burying all beneath our indulgences, and so keep at bay this endless despair.