Morning Star
ספר בראשית
We did not know much back then, past our names and what He told us, but I was certain you were different. You were my brother, born from the same non-existent womb, but you were also more. The flowers and the trees were not allowed to bow to anyone else but Him, but as you walked past they seemed intent on doing so, half-bent in the breeze. Fruits fell into your palm, waiting to be bitten by your perfect mouth as if they served no other purpose. The first time I saw you, you had a pomegranate in your hand – I did not know if my tongue watered because of it or because of you – but I do not think it mattered, because you knew what I wanted.
And you smiled; blinding a mortal if they so passed by, and offered it to me.
Take it, you said. I did not do as you asked, immobile that you even found time in the endless day to speak to me. A thousand liberties chimed in unison when you laughed, taking my hand yourself and wrapping my fingers around the sunset globes. It ripened under our combined touches, the first miracle.
Taste it, you said. Taste it for me.
How could I have resisted you?
I held it up to my lips, several seasons ticking by, and wounded it, juice trickling down our skin. It was fleshy, and sweet, and I smiled back when I told you so.
You deserve nothing less, you said, your eyes only a little bit serpentine. That was when I became certain.
It is you! I exclaimed, almost dropping the pomegranate. I trembled with the shock, and I knew it simply would not do to have this kind of reaction with another of my kind, but it was something I could not help. You held me in your arms so that I would not have to stumble to the ground, always patient, always kind.
Nevertheless, I tripped over my words when I tried to continue. It is you who they spoke of... the Morning—
— Star, yes, you finished for me, seemingly amused. You are not mistaken, cherubim. What gave me away? You asked, and I knew I must answer, or at least attempt to.
It is your, your gait, y-your voice... face...
Imagine the angel created to embody speech stammering like that. Perhaps that is when the first blush began its disastrous reign on unsuspecting cheeks.
You are awestruck by me? you asked. Perhaps you invented smirking too. So many new things, between the two of us; so many new things that found themselves whole, existing because of us. You can make dead stars rise when you call them forth.
That would be a sin— I froze, suddenly terrified of what someone like you may do to me, but your tone was calming, soothing the most troubled waters. If you were human, little one. But you are not.
You always knew who I was, who I could be. It makes me wish I recognized you at first too.
And from what I can measure, you are not so little, cherubim. You mislead those you meet by making them think you are not as great as you are.
Me? Great? I could hardly believe it. I was a loudspeaker, an errand boy...
The Messenger, standing right before me, you said. I do not know why you seemed so, only smitten fits the description. Certainly, I was not as beautiful as you, but you always said otherwise. Then, May I ask your name?
Gabriel, I said quickly. I did not want to make you wait, to make you lack, even for a moment. Gabriel, the Messenger. How did you know?
What a silly question, and a silly cherubim I was. You never forgot to remind me so, in later years.
Oh, you are delightful, you laughed, a thousand robins tolling. So lovely, and so delightful. You are the first to ask me that, and of course I will answer.
They call me Lucifer, the Morning Star, and won’t you mind flying with me, just for a little while?
And you smiled; blinding a mortal if they so passed by, and offered it to me.
Take it, you said. I did not do as you asked, immobile that you even found time in the endless day to speak to me. A thousand liberties chimed in unison when you laughed, taking my hand yourself and wrapping my fingers around the sunset globes. It ripened under our combined touches, the first miracle.
Taste it, you said. Taste it for me.
How could I have resisted you?
I held it up to my lips, several seasons ticking by, and wounded it, juice trickling down our skin. It was fleshy, and sweet, and I smiled back when I told you so.
You deserve nothing less, you said, your eyes only a little bit serpentine. That was when I became certain.
It is you! I exclaimed, almost dropping the pomegranate. I trembled with the shock, and I knew it simply would not do to have this kind of reaction with another of my kind, but it was something I could not help. You held me in your arms so that I would not have to stumble to the ground, always patient, always kind.
Nevertheless, I tripped over my words when I tried to continue. It is you who they spoke of... the Morning—
— Star, yes, you finished for me, seemingly amused. You are not mistaken, cherubim. What gave me away? You asked, and I knew I must answer, or at least attempt to.
It is your, your gait, y-your voice... face...
Imagine the angel created to embody speech stammering like that. Perhaps that is when the first blush began its disastrous reign on unsuspecting cheeks.
You are awestruck by me? you asked. Perhaps you invented smirking too. So many new things, between the two of us; so many new things that found themselves whole, existing because of us. You can make dead stars rise when you call them forth.
That would be a sin— I froze, suddenly terrified of what someone like you may do to me, but your tone was calming, soothing the most troubled waters. If you were human, little one. But you are not.
You always knew who I was, who I could be. It makes me wish I recognized you at first too.
And from what I can measure, you are not so little, cherubim. You mislead those you meet by making them think you are not as great as you are.
Me? Great? I could hardly believe it. I was a loudspeaker, an errand boy...
The Messenger, standing right before me, you said. I do not know why you seemed so, only smitten fits the description. Certainly, I was not as beautiful as you, but you always said otherwise. Then, May I ask your name?
Gabriel, I said quickly. I did not want to make you wait, to make you lack, even for a moment. Gabriel, the Messenger. How did you know?
What a silly question, and a silly cherubim I was. You never forgot to remind me so, in later years.
Oh, you are delightful, you laughed, a thousand robins tolling. So lovely, and so delightful. You are the first to ask me that, and of course I will answer.
They call me Lucifer, the Morning Star, and won’t you mind flying with me, just for a little while?