BwA: Chapter 3 - A Moment of Weakness

 According to my grandmother's stories, Xandria the Merciless was not always so. She was not even born into a warrior caste but had been the eldest of several daughters born to a laundress in a town known as Marcheth. Marcheth can no longer be found on any map as it was destroyed in a battle between Heaven and Hell. It was this battle that Fylfawen, with her infant sister, Penelope, rescued the dying angel, Ralael. – From the journal of Severah ajal Binoch.

Xandria could not bear to watch Zazael sleep. It reminded her too much of the time she spent with Ralael, and she blamed it on her sanity that had suffered all those times she'd gone to Oblivion to visit him, that Xandria had more than once caught herself trying to crawl into the bed with the sleeping angel as if he really was her Ralael returned to her.

Xandria helped with the injured. She knew how to wash bandages, how to sew wounds, and set broken bones. Severah had been frightened of her at first when Xandria appeared from the room where Zazael slept but had made amends for shouting at the girl by asking about Severah's mother, Binoch. The ajal clan of gypsies honored the older generations by passing down the names of the generation before. Severah's true name was most likely seven or more generations long each separated by ajal which meant 'daughter of.' Severah's mother Binoch had been born and died while Xandria was imprisoned.

"I mean no offense but this was drawn when my great-grandmother Iard was a young woman, before the birth of Harsa," Severah handed Xandria a piece of parchment with an amazing likeness of herself on it. It was an old wanted poster, offering much gold for Xandria the Merciless, dead or alive by the Holy Order. It looked about the age Xandria appeared now, somewhere around mid twenties. Xandria had already begun to attack the Holy Order and had been given her title by them, but she had not yet gone into full swing. She hadn't even killed her first angel yet. "You are Xandria, I'm sure of it, but how is it you've not aged?" Severah whispered conspiratorially.

"I am cursed," she replied, not sure if she meant her restored youth or the angel that slept in the bed up the stairs.

By dawn, Xandria had finally fallen asleep herself on the hearth in the room with Zazael. Before going to sleep, she had checked his wound, after she'd burned it, it had bled no more, and now the wound was nearly gone. As the angel slept, he regained his strength and his ability to heal almost instantly. The cut to his face and shoulder were already gone as if they'd never been. It seemed that maybe she was not the angel expert she thought she was and perhaps they did need rest.

"Oh Ralael," she whispered, running her hand over Zazael's brow. She had missed the touch of angel flesh. Though it appeared as hard as polished black onyx and as perfect as glass, it felt as soft as velvet, and was very warm to the touch. Angels were hotter creatures than humans and closing her eyes Xandria allowed herself a moment to remember herself wrapped in Ralael's black skin and beaming white wings. The skin to skin contact was euphoria and he had not even entered her sex with his own. Xandria opened her eyes, realizing she was trembling and was clutching Zazael's arm to her, her face held in his limp palm. She blinked as tears fell from her eyes. Zazael had not woken, but Xandria felt like she in her moment of weakness had taken advantage of him, forgetting he was not her Ralael.