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An Angel's Respite (Chapter Sixteen)
Wilbur.
Hester heard scampering coming from the upper room then a whimper, like an injured animal begging for some sort of mercy—or some sort of comfort, Hester knew which one Wilbur wanted.
He slowly came back to his senses, the burning fire, the door rattling from the snowy wind, a book thrown on the floor from a previous tussle, and a pot also on the floor dented and the handle splintered.
Hester signed, he could still hear his heart pounding in his chest and his breath was slightly shallow. Still he ascended the ladder and joined Wilbur fussing in the upstairs room.
"Hey, mate." Hester said as he blinked away spots from his vision—it felt like hours he had been downstairs but the sun was still overhead slowly and tediously sinking deeper into the mountains the room being filled with a orange and an apple red hue to it.
"Did I wake you? Sorry," Wilbur nodded, lips wobbling and eyes wide—however not the usual quiet sniffles and hitch breath, Wilbur was as uncharacteristic as it seemed was indeed, pouting.
"I'm sorry. It's just," He signed, he hadn't said anything or even acknowledged Alexander's behavior to Wilbur over the past week, Wilbur probably didn't even know where Alexander was or that he had left at all. He sat down next to Wilbur on the sofa letting his head rest against the wall as he said.
"Me and Alexander got into a little disagreement—that's all." Hester said, Wilbur relaxed slightly at Hester's voice. In Hester's mind it sounded tired and stressed—in Wilbur's, he must have thought it sounded calm and relaxed. Hester was anything but.
"Everyone gets into disagreements y'know? We even disagree with the people we love sometimes," Hester didn't know if he was trying to comfort Wilbur or himself. "We need to talk to them, so after everything we can see each other's point of view—to know how they see the world around them." Hester was more so thinking out loud—and now realizing—he did none of that while talking to Alexander he was trying to protect himself from, Alexander? Saying it out loud it sounded quite idiotic, Alexander would never actually hurt him or Wilbur, right?
The thought reminded him of something, from a very long time ago.
"Wilbur," Hester said quietly "Would you like to hear what happens next with Death's two Angles?" Hester pulled Wilbur closer on to his lap Wilbur didn't fuss instead obediently stayed quite snuggling farther into Hester's chest.
"One day, a very very long time ago, there were two Angles."
«»«»«»«»«»
"Wait, why are you asking me?" The young boy asked not giving the slightest indication of an answer, he knew it would be a trick question, how could it not be? Death merely smiled at one that the young boy would never admit but he would do anything for, anything for his golden-hearted Goddess after all. "I'll tell you right after you answer it, my Angle." She said calmly sitting knees below her and hands tucked formally but still having the burning warmth of her love.
"I don't know, they both are." The young boy floundered, standing next to her. His wings fluffed up to feel her warmth—the gentle reminder that he is loved and cared for, only Death could ever make him so calm. "Explain." Death said gazing out at the endless void it was something she did fondly, the boy never understood it—there was nothing to look at. One day he would find the courage to ask her why she did so—but today was not that day.
"Well they both have their own way of thinking," He said absentmindedly, putting a finger to his chin, "Both do what they need to—both complete what is asked of them. But they would do it in different ways whenever possible." He said sitting down legs crossed below him holding his feet and letting his wings idly flap and move making an occasional sound of feathers rustling together Death never minded when he couldn't sit still—his family was different—however that's all he ever wanted to do with Death, sit together and talk, tell stories, only ones she could ever know with only details she could ever remember.
But today, instead of a story, Death prompted a question.
"Then, my Angel, would you consider Tallulah more violent?" Death asked, still looking to a horizon the boy could not see.
"Absolutely." He said without a doubt in his mind. "She's a ruthless...
Hester heard scampering coming from the upper room then a whimper, like an injured animal begging for some sort of mercy—or some sort of comfort, Hester knew which one Wilbur wanted.
He slowly came back to his senses, the burning fire, the door rattling from the snowy wind, a book thrown on the floor from a previous tussle, and a pot also on the floor dented and the handle splintered.
Hester signed, he could still hear his heart pounding in his chest and his breath was slightly shallow. Still he ascended the ladder and joined Wilbur fussing in the upstairs room.
"Hey, mate." Hester said as he blinked away spots from his vision—it felt like hours he had been downstairs but the sun was still overhead slowly and tediously sinking deeper into the mountains the room being filled with a orange and an apple red hue to it.
"Did I wake you? Sorry," Wilbur nodded, lips wobbling and eyes wide—however not the usual quiet sniffles and hitch breath, Wilbur was as uncharacteristic as it seemed was indeed, pouting.
"I'm sorry. It's just," He signed, he hadn't said anything or even acknowledged Alexander's behavior to Wilbur over the past week, Wilbur probably didn't even know where Alexander was or that he had left at all. He sat down next to Wilbur on the sofa letting his head rest against the wall as he said.
"Me and Alexander got into a little disagreement—that's all." Hester said, Wilbur relaxed slightly at Hester's voice. In Hester's mind it sounded tired and stressed—in Wilbur's, he must have thought it sounded calm and relaxed. Hester was anything but.
"Everyone gets into disagreements y'know? We even disagree with the people we love sometimes," Hester didn't know if he was trying to comfort Wilbur or himself. "We need to talk to them, so after everything we can see each other's point of view—to know how they see the world around them." Hester was more so thinking out loud—and now realizing—he did none of that while talking to Alexander he was trying to protect himself from, Alexander? Saying it out loud it sounded quite idiotic, Alexander would never actually hurt him or Wilbur, right?
The thought reminded him of something, from a very long time ago.
"Wilbur," Hester said quietly "Would you like to hear what happens next with Death's two Angles?" Hester pulled Wilbur closer on to his lap Wilbur didn't fuss instead obediently stayed quite snuggling farther into Hester's chest.
"One day, a very very long time ago, there were two Angles."
«»«»«»«»«»
"Wait, why are you asking me?" The young boy asked not giving the slightest indication of an answer, he knew it would be a trick question, how could it not be? Death merely smiled at one that the young boy would never admit but he would do anything for, anything for his golden-hearted Goddess after all. "I'll tell you right after you answer it, my Angle." She said calmly sitting knees below her and hands tucked formally but still having the burning warmth of her love.
"I don't know, they both are." The young boy floundered, standing next to her. His wings fluffed up to feel her warmth—the gentle reminder that he is loved and cared for, only Death could ever make him so calm. "Explain." Death said gazing out at the endless void it was something she did fondly, the boy never understood it—there was nothing to look at. One day he would find the courage to ask her why she did so—but today was not that day.
"Well they both have their own way of thinking," He said absentmindedly, putting a finger to his chin, "Both do what they need to—both complete what is asked of them. But they would do it in different ways whenever possible." He said sitting down legs crossed below him holding his feet and letting his wings idly flap and move making an occasional sound of feathers rustling together Death never minded when he couldn't sit still—his family was different—however that's all he ever wanted to do with Death, sit together and talk, tell stories, only ones she could ever know with only details she could ever remember.
But today, instead of a story, Death prompted a question.
"Then, my Angel, would you consider Tallulah more violent?" Death asked, still looking to a horizon the boy could not see.
"Absolutely." He said without a doubt in his mind. "She's a ruthless...
