‹ Prequel: Lead and Gold
Vernacular
Fall
I have tried again and again to remember, but it all amounts to naught.
Although I am something that defies rationality, I have always attempted to remain a rational being. As an Alchemist, the unexplained comes by very careful processes, rigid recipes, and only the most cautious of minds. There is no room for deviance when combining volatile chemicals, for one extraneous drop can be the difference between tisane and toxicity.
Why, then, can I not explain what has happened?
I have tirelessly studied the arcane biological processes of Our bodies, tried to understand the mechanics of our state, the physics of our existence...but this...
There is no rational formula to explain what has happened.
Not but a week ago, as I was out in my travels, a wave of dizziness overcame me. This in itself is no rarity--a lack of nourishment could very easily explain this--but, no matter how much I drank, the wave would not pass. I allowed myself a few days of rest, hoping that the break in my nonstop wandering would aid the recuperation, but there was no such help. If anything, the dizziness became stronger, limiting my movement, my speech, my thoughts.
For the first time in immemorial years, I fell into a deep sleep.
It was a sleep without dreams, which frightened me all the more. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing but an all pervading darkness. I was aware I was sleeping, almost like a coma, but I could do nothing to rouse myself.
Finally, after some time, I awoke, and then I felt again.
I felt agony.
Safe in my secluded haven, I screamed, all too aware of the echo barraging the nearby trees. My shoulders were on fire, a fire I had not felt in all the years of my existence. My hands were useless weights at my side, and I felt as if I was being pinned to the ground. Even in the chaos of it all, I managed to pinpoint the pain to my right shoulder, just below my neck. All I could do is wait it all out, praying to what Gods' would listen to one such as I to end it.
Eventually, it did.
After waiting for my energy to recover, I gingerly sat up, only tentatively managing to reach my hand behind me, and I stopped.
Did I want to know what was there?
Was I deteriorating? Had I been attacked in my sleep? Was I maimed, scarred, damaged? Had I been set aflame? Stabbed? Bitten?
I reached behind me--and screamed.
It was a wing. It was not leathery, as the stories described them, but soft, like down. Already this far, I tugged at a feather, ignoring the jolt of pain, and brought it before my eyes. It was black, as I imagined my long-dead heart was. Black down, graceful, as far as I could tell by the curve.
Like an angel's wings.
What am I?
***
The War in Heaven. Lucifer, gorged on pride and greed, rose up against God, inciting a rebellion to overthrow the Divine Throne. It is said he rallied one-third of all the host of Heaven to join him, believing that such numbers were enough to ensure victory.
They were not.
God overthrew the whole upstart, and, as punishment, through all the rebelling angels' down into Hell. There they were condemned to stay, penitent of their sins. To remind them of their Fall, God allowed their wings to absorb the soot of Hell's flames, blackening them indefinitely. It was said that the imprisonment drove some of the angels' to madness, pushing them to acts of depravity. One such act was drinking the blood of their fellow angels', consuming their fragmented memories of Heaven in an attempt to remember the time before their Fall. As a result, these Fallen--Drinkers, as the wary angels' called them--were filled with the souls of those they fed from. It only drove them to further madness, filling their minds with all of the thoughts. Their fragmentation became so dangerous that the Morning Star had no choice but to drive the Drinkers' from Hell, to the Upper World. Due to their angelic nature, the Drinkers' retained their immortality, but, devoid of the blood of their Brothers, they were forced to feed more constantly to equal what they had first drank Below. They tried first to consume animals, but their souls were contaminated, full of primal instincts. They moved on to something more sentient--Humans.
An unfortunate result of this feeding was the fact that the feeding imparted a fraction of the Drinkers' angelic nature into the prey. In short, it turned the humans into shades of Drinkers'--something that was eventually called "Vampire". The main differentiation between the two breeds is the presence or absence of wings--only the original line of Drinkers' maintained their wings, though there have been mentions of their retraction, in order to blend in among their prey. Numerous stories validate this information, including...
And so I know.
The Fallen.
Although I am something that defies rationality, I have always attempted to remain a rational being. As an Alchemist, the unexplained comes by very careful processes, rigid recipes, and only the most cautious of minds. There is no room for deviance when combining volatile chemicals, for one extraneous drop can be the difference between tisane and toxicity.
Why, then, can I not explain what has happened?
I have tirelessly studied the arcane biological processes of Our bodies, tried to understand the mechanics of our state, the physics of our existence...but this...
There is no rational formula to explain what has happened.
Not but a week ago, as I was out in my travels, a wave of dizziness overcame me. This in itself is no rarity--a lack of nourishment could very easily explain this--but, no matter how much I drank, the wave would not pass. I allowed myself a few days of rest, hoping that the break in my nonstop wandering would aid the recuperation, but there was no such help. If anything, the dizziness became stronger, limiting my movement, my speech, my thoughts.
For the first time in immemorial years, I fell into a deep sleep.
It was a sleep without dreams, which frightened me all the more. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing but an all pervading darkness. I was aware I was sleeping, almost like a coma, but I could do nothing to rouse myself.
Finally, after some time, I awoke, and then I felt again.
I felt agony.
Safe in my secluded haven, I screamed, all too aware of the echo barraging the nearby trees. My shoulders were on fire, a fire I had not felt in all the years of my existence. My hands were useless weights at my side, and I felt as if I was being pinned to the ground. Even in the chaos of it all, I managed to pinpoint the pain to my right shoulder, just below my neck. All I could do is wait it all out, praying to what Gods' would listen to one such as I to end it.
Eventually, it did.
After waiting for my energy to recover, I gingerly sat up, only tentatively managing to reach my hand behind me, and I stopped.
Did I want to know what was there?
Was I deteriorating? Had I been attacked in my sleep? Was I maimed, scarred, damaged? Had I been set aflame? Stabbed? Bitten?
I reached behind me--and screamed.
It was a wing. It was not leathery, as the stories described them, but soft, like down. Already this far, I tugged at a feather, ignoring the jolt of pain, and brought it before my eyes. It was black, as I imagined my long-dead heart was. Black down, graceful, as far as I could tell by the curve.
Like an angel's wings.
What am I?
***
The War in Heaven. Lucifer, gorged on pride and greed, rose up against God, inciting a rebellion to overthrow the Divine Throne. It is said he rallied one-third of all the host of Heaven to join him, believing that such numbers were enough to ensure victory.
They were not.
God overthrew the whole upstart, and, as punishment, through all the rebelling angels' down into Hell. There they were condemned to stay, penitent of their sins. To remind them of their Fall, God allowed their wings to absorb the soot of Hell's flames, blackening them indefinitely. It was said that the imprisonment drove some of the angels' to madness, pushing them to acts of depravity. One such act was drinking the blood of their fellow angels', consuming their fragmented memories of Heaven in an attempt to remember the time before their Fall. As a result, these Fallen--Drinkers, as the wary angels' called them--were filled with the souls of those they fed from. It only drove them to further madness, filling their minds with all of the thoughts. Their fragmentation became so dangerous that the Morning Star had no choice but to drive the Drinkers' from Hell, to the Upper World. Due to their angelic nature, the Drinkers' retained their immortality, but, devoid of the blood of their Brothers, they were forced to feed more constantly to equal what they had first drank Below. They tried first to consume animals, but their souls were contaminated, full of primal instincts. They moved on to something more sentient--Humans.
An unfortunate result of this feeding was the fact that the feeding imparted a fraction of the Drinkers' angelic nature into the prey. In short, it turned the humans into shades of Drinkers'--something that was eventually called "Vampire". The main differentiation between the two breeds is the presence or absence of wings--only the original line of Drinkers' maintained their wings, though there have been mentions of their retraction, in order to blend in among their prey. Numerous stories validate this information, including...
And so I know.
The Fallen.