A Darker Prometheus I: Ariel
folder
Angel the Series › FemmeSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,945
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Recommended:
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Category:
Angel the Series › FemmeSlash - Female/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
1,945
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Angel: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Angels of Death
Part Six: Angels of Death.
Darla was delighted with her new Childe. He was strong, intelligent and cunning – a predator set loose among mankind, not merely a parasite. He revelled in his newfound power, displaying the natural easy arrogance of a born hunter, a superior being. His only flaw was his desire for luxury. To Darla the world above, the human world, was a hunting ground; she preferred to live in the cool, silent spaces under the earth. Angelus loved the bustle and confusion of the crowded upper world, stalking among his prey, playing at being one of them, constantestiesting his own boundaries and limits. Was this merely the exuberance of the demon made flesh? Or was this the final, subtle attempt by the human soul which still existed deep within to tempt the invading demon to self-destruction?
*****
In a little church on the outskirts of Dublin, Darla knelt to take the communion wafer, holding out her tiny pink tongue to receive the Host. The young priest gulped hard, trying to his his mind on the ritual, his eyes returning again to regard her piously downcast eyes, the black lashes brushing the milky skin of her cheek. Mentally, he berated himself for having lascivious thoughts and tried to keep his hands from trembling as he made the sign of the cross above her golden head.
She swallowed the wafer then turned her unfathomable blue eyes upwards to the youthful priest’s brown ones. Speaking softly, she asked himf onf one has no soul, can one still sin?’
Puzzled, he replied, ‘I am afraid I do not quite understand the question.’
Holding up her hand for him to assist her to her feet, Darla grasped it tightly enough to make him gasp in surprise. ‘Perhaps I can state it a little more clearly,’ she said sweetly, lunging forward to tear out his throat.
As she finished drinking, Angelus came out of a back room dragging a young nun by the hair, ignoring her cries and struggles. ‘There were only three but I saved you the best one,’ he smirked.
‘Thanks lover, but I am already full’. Darla ran a finger through the last drops of blood oozing from the priest’s neck, daintily licking it from her fingertip.
Angelus looked at the little novice, her face streaked with tears, lips moving in whispered prayer. ‘I do so hate to waste food,’ he sniggered, casually snapping her neck and dropping the limp body to the mosaic tiled floor. The nun’s face still displayed the anguish of her final moments; her arms fell to her sides, outstretched and palms upwards, mirroring the posture and face of the crucified figure above the altar.
Angelus, laughing wildly, leapt up on the altar, kicking aside the trappings of this hateful hypocrisy, scattering the candles which set alight the altar cloth and curtains nearby. Darla, considering this a wonderful jest, seized smaller tapers from in front of the statue of the Virgin, tossing them among the pews.
As they walked hand in hand into the night, the church blazing furiously behind them, Darla looked contentedly at Angelus and thought, ‘This one may be something special’.
- Fin -
Author’s notes: For readers interested in the history of ‘haute couture’, Empire-style dresses didn’t appear until about fifty years after this story is set.
The word ‘tattoo’ was first used in the English language following the voyages of Capt James Cook to Tahiti around 1769.
Darla was delighted with her new Childe. He was strong, intelligent and cunning – a predator set loose among mankind, not merely a parasite. He revelled in his newfound power, displaying the natural easy arrogance of a born hunter, a superior being. His only flaw was his desire for luxury. To Darla the world above, the human world, was a hunting ground; she preferred to live in the cool, silent spaces under the earth. Angelus loved the bustle and confusion of the crowded upper world, stalking among his prey, playing at being one of them, constantestiesting his own boundaries and limits. Was this merely the exuberance of the demon made flesh? Or was this the final, subtle attempt by the human soul which still existed deep within to tempt the invading demon to self-destruction?
*****
In a little church on the outskirts of Dublin, Darla knelt to take the communion wafer, holding out her tiny pink tongue to receive the Host. The young priest gulped hard, trying to his his mind on the ritual, his eyes returning again to regard her piously downcast eyes, the black lashes brushing the milky skin of her cheek. Mentally, he berated himself for having lascivious thoughts and tried to keep his hands from trembling as he made the sign of the cross above her golden head.
She swallowed the wafer then turned her unfathomable blue eyes upwards to the youthful priest’s brown ones. Speaking softly, she asked himf onf one has no soul, can one still sin?’
Puzzled, he replied, ‘I am afraid I do not quite understand the question.’
Holding up her hand for him to assist her to her feet, Darla grasped it tightly enough to make him gasp in surprise. ‘Perhaps I can state it a little more clearly,’ she said sweetly, lunging forward to tear out his throat.
As she finished drinking, Angelus came out of a back room dragging a young nun by the hair, ignoring her cries and struggles. ‘There were only three but I saved you the best one,’ he smirked.
‘Thanks lover, but I am already full’. Darla ran a finger through the last drops of blood oozing from the priest’s neck, daintily licking it from her fingertip.
Angelus looked at the little novice, her face streaked with tears, lips moving in whispered prayer. ‘I do so hate to waste food,’ he sniggered, casually snapping her neck and dropping the limp body to the mosaic tiled floor. The nun’s face still displayed the anguish of her final moments; her arms fell to her sides, outstretched and palms upwards, mirroring the posture and face of the crucified figure above the altar.
Angelus, laughing wildly, leapt up on the altar, kicking aside the trappings of this hateful hypocrisy, scattering the candles which set alight the altar cloth and curtains nearby. Darla, considering this a wonderful jest, seized smaller tapers from in front of the statue of the Virgin, tossing them among the pews.
As they walked hand in hand into the night, the church blazing furiously behind them, Darla looked contentedly at Angelus and thought, ‘This one may be something special’.
- Fin -
Author’s notes: For readers interested in the history of ‘haute couture’, Empire-style dresses didn’t appear until about fifty years after this story is set.
The word ‘tattoo’ was first used in the English language following the voyages of Capt James Cook to Tahiti around 1769.