Angel of the Ice

This existence is not something I chose, and I am as much a victim as the rest of the souls I have driven to darkness; nobody will convince me otherwise. Allow me to start from the beginning and if, at the end of my tale, you still despise me, we shall go our separate ways. To love is to be willing to let go. I can do that; I can love you enough to keep you safe from me. But first I must make you understand. Growing up in Heaven is not the cakewalk you might believe it was. I grew up motherless, with a tyrant father who refused to accept anything less than perfection from His children. God demanded unwavering obedience; he ruled our family with a literal iron fist. The moment myself or any of my 332 siblings set so much as a feather out of line, that iron fist was used to banish us to Earth for eternity. Father would then create another angel to take the place of His fallen child—we were that disposable to Him. My siblings and I lived in constant fear, never knowing who would be next to be discarded. I was nineteen when my turn came.

Earlier that day, my oldest brother, Gabrielle, and I were playing soccer in the field by Holy Water River. Gab announced he was going to the mess hall for a drink—those trivial words were the last he spoke to me. I watched him bound away, his long, golden hair flowing behind him.

My throat too was parched, but I was tired, and I figured there was a body of crystal- clear water right beside me. Father forbade us to drink from Holy Water River, but I rationalised that what Father did not know, would not hurt him. I knelt on the lush grass of the riverbank, dipped my hands into the cool stream, and brought the water to my lips. It was like drinking sunlight—strange as that may sound—my body was instantly warm and infused with pleasure. Hungry for more of the divine sensation, I returned my hands to the river and drank again, and again, and again.

‘How dare you!’ Father’s thunderous voice boomed.

Birds flew from the treetops in terror and ripples raced across the surface of the river, as the soundwaves of Father’s fury echoed throughout His kingdom. My hands fell limp at my sides, still dripping with glittery remnants of Holy Water. I regretted my impulsive transgression immediately, but it was too late; there are no second chances in The Kingdom of Heaven. I was unsurprised when the cold metal of Father’s iron fist met with my cheek and Earth—land of the flawed and imperfect humans—rushed to meet me, as I fell unceremoniously from the clouds.

Centuries have passed since my falling. Each has blurred into the next and I lost count over the years, but I need you to know I do not regret drinking from Holy Water River any longer. I had to fall to find you. But I digress…

My first decade on Earth was more painful than anything I have experienced. I missed my siblings and yearned for the beauty of Heavenly Garden. The humans were filled with hatred and rage; their world, polluted and neglected. One thing sustained me throughout those depressing years: the memory of Holy Water coursing through my veins. I despised myself for holding this memory closer to my heart than that of my dear siblings, but I must be truthful now. I will always be truthful with you, ugly though it may be.

On the 10th anniversary of my fall from grace, Lucifer came to me. I heard rumours in Heaven about this estranged brother, but I dismissed them as legend. Lucifer was said to be the first of God’s children to fall. Folklore held he had started a jealousy-fuelled war and forced our siblings to choose between him and Father. The pearl-paved streets were said to have run red with angelic blood.

Heavenly Library’s history section was home to a thick, leather-bound book called The Great Celestial War. Its brittle, yellowed pages alleged Father did not fight in the war. As the battle raged between His children, Father locked Himself in His castle for seven days. When He emerged, Father waded through the bloody streets, the infamous iron fist clutched in His hand for the first time. According to the book, after casting out Lucifer and his army, Father vowed The Great Celestial War would never be repeated. He ruled from that day forward, the iron fist would enforce order and cast out any angel who dared rebel against His commands.

The final chapter of The Great Celestial War grimly warned the iron fist could only be wielded by the one who forged it. If an angel touched it, they would instantly fall from grace.

My siblings and I discounted this book as a twisted bedtime story; another scare tactic employed by our sadistic father to keep us in line. Only after meeting Lucifer, did I realise The Great Celestial War was gospel truth.

Lucifer declared his fall was the best thing to happen to him; that it made him a god. He told me about his kingdom called Hell—a place where his children were free to do anything they pleased: no rules, no iron fists, no banishments, and no wars.

Lucifer loved his children but, like me, missed his siblings. If I paid the price, he promised to make me king of Hell; a second in command of sorts. You must understand, I was miserable, I missed my family, and I could never return home, yet here was a brother, offering light at the end of my tunnel of eternal anguish.

I carefully read the fine print on my deal before signing: 666 billion souls lured into drug addiction by me, immortality for my soul and my body, and a fatal overdose for any would-be murderer/s who attempt to take my life.

I knew the cost of my freedom. But would I change it if I could? Probably not. That deal too, brought me to you. And I am selfish enough to damn every one of those 5.2 billion souls collected thus far, in exchange for your exquisite heart.

As my years on Earth passed, my hatred for my father consumed me. I saw His face in every broken soul I claimed; the souls of the precious ones made in His image. They were all the same: selfish, egotistical, and domineering. But your family was different. When I met your brother, Phoenix six years ago, for the first time on Earth, I saw goodness again. And it was not because his hair was the exact same shade of golden blonde as Gab’s; it was his aura.

Heavenly Library housed ancient books about Nephilim children: the products of angel and human copulation. I know not if these were myth or fact, but I do know I did not encounter mortals who looked even remotely like my siblings; not until I met Phoenix. I became as addicted to our friendship as he, to my narcotic charms.

Perhaps if Phoenix had not introduced you and I then we could have gone on that way. But seeing us happy snapped something inside him. Jealousy wrapped her long, green tendrils around his heart, and he pulled away from me. I believe this is further indicative of your Nephilim heritage.

‘I am a jealous God’ is Father’s favourite line and a hereditary character flaw. While I had 332 siblings at any one time in Heaven, we each only truly bonded with one other. As you know, my Heavenly One was Gab. I believe Phoenix and I subconsciously became each other’s Earthly Ones. And you did not take that away from him or I because what I felt…what I feel…for you is different; an intimate, soulmate love, not a sibling or familial love. Nevertheless, I am convinced, in Phoenix’s troubled mind, I chose you over him and for that, he could not forgive me.

I should have known something was wrong when Phoenix invited me up to the rooftop that fateful night—he was, after all, two months clean. Despite our differences, I did not expect Phoenix to be the first to activate the fine print in my deal. I was as shocked and hurt as you when he pushed me to what he foolishly assumed would be my death. But Phoenix chose his fate, and I beg you to understand that; he chose his fatal overdose the moment he took it upon himself to rid the world of me. He spared no thought for how losing me might affect you. In the end, there was no good left in Phoenix, only vengeful wrath akin to Father’s. I mourn for neither of them.

Do with my story what you will. Should you go, I will not follow—you will be the first soul I have ever set free. But remember, I am not sorry I drank from Holy Water River, nor that I fell. I am not sorry for making a deal with Lucifer, or for torturing 5.2 billion souls and destroying their respective families. I am not sorry I am the reason your brother is dead, and I am not sorry for loving you.

I am Dodd, Demon of Drug Dependency, and I am not sorry...