At first they had passed unnoticed. They were not much to make ado about. Three women, one a crone, the second a matron, the last a young maiden, walking hand in hand along the dry cobblestones—it was not an uncommon sight in Elysium. All areas of Heaven were open to the Fates; they would appear in the Blessed Isle one morn or perhaps visit the Forest of Remembrance the next. They were quiet and benign creatures who walked the fields of Paradise endlessly, crossing the realm as the sun’s rays glide across the slopes and valleys of the earth. Their paces never varied in length or tempo. Never talking, but always walking and weaving, the plodding Fates were a constant in Elysium, perhaps the only constant the realm ever had.

Perhaps that was why it was such a surprise when they began to dance.

It started with a turn—and then the curl of an arm. The twist of the maiden’s hips broke the trio free from the cobblestone path as they bounded down to the adjacent shore. Their skirts flared in an uncommonly strong breeze. The tapestry they carried, which had always been neatly bound and tucked beneath their arms, now snapped violently in gathering gusts. They tossed their limbs wildly in the air. Silver-gray clouds drew together above their fingers, as if the Fates would attempt to weave a blanket in Heaven’s sky.

The trio of angels danced in a sea of gleaming fabric; their limbs shook to a rhythm known only to themselves. They entwined their bodies in the tapestry of the universe. Delicate threads of consciousness had wound around the triad's fingers; jeweled cutting shears were fastened to their garters. The celestial cerulean sky above them shone with the piercing light of anointed souls as the threesome danced in the river Styx, soaking the fabric of Creation in the immortal waters. The winds of the approaching storm beat at them, raining stinging kisses alongside their frames.

The soft slap of rain against stained glass brought Majelic to her window. Gazing at the vista before her, she spotted the trio of destiny conjuring a storm above the shores of Time. She frowned. The Creator would not be pleased.

"Fates!" Majelic called out to the three cherubim. From the towers of Mercy she watched them with cautious eyes as they danced by the lavender waters. The wailing requiems of the women stabbed at the ears of passing angels, who clutched their hands to the sides of their heads and took flight in hopes of escaping the shrill sounds. Amid the flutter of migrating wings, Majelic's words were almost lost in the increasing fury. "Cease your sorrow songs this instant! Despair has no place in the Realm of Mercy!"

The women ignored Majelic's orders and continued with their frenzied mourning. Windswept sand now danced alongside the women, encircling them, lashing at their alabaster skin, lapping up specks of their crimson blood. The wretched three beat at their chests and tore at their dry and brittle hair. The dirty locks slipped from their fingers and fluttered through the sky, carried away by strong winds.

Majelic flung the shutters open. Rainbow-stained wings burst forth from her dorsal cavity as she arched her back with a guttural moan of release. Spiraling down from her towers, she maneuvered past fleeing brethren and gawking spectators as she pried through the crowded skies to reach the earth below. The rumbling of thunder merged with the trembling of wings. Limbs pressed against her own struggling legs and arms. She glided towards the Fates.

A strong storm is approaching, Majelic thought to herself. She hoped she could persuade the trio to retreat to the seclusion of her towers and thereby quell the disturbance. If the Council discovered this commotion took place so near her domain…She shuddered to think at what such a scandal would do to her already unfavorable standing in the Senate.

As she swiftly approached the shores, Majelic reached down to snatch the nearest member of the trio, a raging crone, around to face her. She stabbed at the churning sky with her finger. "Elder, bring the others inside immediately! Do you not see that there is a temporal storm approaching? You should find shelter with the others!" Majelic gestured to the heavens and streets, which were quickly emptying of their angelic content.

The crone shot a toothless grin at her. Her pale wrinkled skin glistened in the small traces of soul-light beaming down from the cloud-covered sky. "You should be the one to find shelter, little Mercy." She peered at Majelic, her eyes locked in a manic trance. "Yes, a palisade is what you should be searching for." Bending down, the old woman seized the wet fabric swirling in the waves around her feet and crushed it into Majelic's face. "Do you not see the loops in the pattern? Can you not see that the dawn of the Messiah is approaching?"

The cloth, soaked in frigid waters, stung against the angel’s cheek. Sputtering, Majelic recoiled from the woman. "Get away from me, crone!" Her wings retracted in response and folded themselves beneath her apertures. "If you wish to lose yourself in the temporal storm, mad one, then you are welcome to do it! I will take my leave now, and attend to the Creator!"

The whispers of the ancient one crackled as if dry parchment. "You will not find the Creator you once knew. The storm affects more than that which walks across the shores of time. Ask the seer and he will tell you."

Majelic jerked her head upward to glare at the trio with widened eyes. Fear pooled in her glimmering turquoise orbs. She bared her fangs and backed away several steps, then turned to flee from the sands.

The Fates watched her run towards her destiny.

Covered in a thin veil of sweat, Majelic barreled over the landscape. Her delicate feet made deep impressions in the fine grain beneath her as she sprinted across the shore. Raindrops bled into her heavy locks. White sands dusted her heels. She pumped her legs furiously. Her thick cobalt braid snapped back and forth in time as the angel dodged stinging whips of illumination. Missing Majelic by mere millimeters, lightning stabbed at drenched earth.

Majelic leapt fervently into the air. She curled her frame, forcing her wings from the slits in her smooth brown back. Cartilage popped as her massive wings were freed from the pressure of her dorsal cavity. Her shrill war cry streamed through the air. As she swooped past the towers and on towards the portal in the main temple, she desperately howled the Creator’s name out into the sky. In response, Heaven turned black.

Light flared from a nearby portal in vibrant arcs to cut through the darkness like gleaming blades through sinew. The chasm throbbed as if stimulated flesh—agitated from the hundreds it had teleported moments before.

Majelic dove into the ethereal gate, surprised at the vibrant violent light and strangled sounds that sputtered from the orifice in the space-time continuum. Blinking repeatedly to adjust to the concentrated illumination, Majelic relaxed slightly as the common signs of teleportation began to take place. She watched as her limbs slipped to a translucent—then transparent—state.

And then nothing.

And then everything.

A violet light flared once more as the portal thrust Majelic high into the sky above the heavenly realm. The rough tips of redwoods provided a coarse carpet beneath her as she hovered in the dark firmament. Bewildered, Majelic fluttered in circles, attempting to discern her location. Only the faint outline of a castle’s towers could be seen in the far distance as a snap of lightning illuminated the sky. This was not the Creator’s palace. Majelic lunged for the portal. Depleted of all energy, the portal vanished before she could once again reach it.

She had been deserted.

Stinging rain beat across her buttocks and thighs like straps of weathered leather. Tears and raindrops bled together to blur Majelic's vision as she swept through the Forest of Remembrance with the brunt of the storm whipping at her back. Though the sky of the forest was perpetually bathed in soul-light, black storm clouds prevented the rays from reaching the eternal greens. The broad limbs of once hardy timber swayed furiously beneath the howling tempest, while wood nymphs shrieked in panic and bolted towards the great caves for shelter. They dragged bawling cherubs behind them as they ran.

With the pressure of the winds, Majelic could no longer remain airborne. Her wings, saturated with rainwater, hung like an iron yoke from her shoulders. She was falling, with only the wooden daggers of branches to catch her as she hurtled towards the earth. Majelic tumbled through the forest’s canopy; splinters dug into her soft skin. She was far from any means of shelter. A long journey still lay between her and the palace.

The rain came down in thick sheets as she sobbed violently. She faltered through the coppice. Her hair had come loose from its clips. Indigo locks clung to her cheeks and crown to let salty rainwater stream into red-rimmed eyes. She had lost her sandals while fleeing from the shore; her feet and muscular calves were caked with rich black mud.

Majelic pushed on through the storm.

Her thin linen toga grew muddy and torn. The translucent wet cloth clung to her flesh to limn soft brown curves. Fallen branches tore at the skin of her legs as she stumbled along the murky trail. Ignoring the pain, Majelic plowed on through the woods, planting one foot in front of the other until her body found a rhythm it could adhere to. Her breath came in short gasps as her body tread upon the path, gaining speed and endurance as she moved. Warm sighs seeped from her mouth to form puffs of white steam in the frigid and clammy air.

KRAKOW! The sonic boom of thunder jarred Majelic from her tempo. She slipped and stumbled to the earth, her skull crashing against a large jagged rock as she slammed against the moist soil with a heavy slap.

"Creator." The phrase was her last before the dark silence of unconsciousness consumed her.

Droplets of royal blue eked from between Majelic’s cool and parted lips to pool in the nooks and crevices of the cragged stones below. The beads were followed by a steady stream—and then a torrent rushing from the dark recess of Majelic’s throat. The liquid leaked from Majelic’s pores. It dripped from the corners of the angel’s bloodshot eyes. Drops drew to pools and pools drew to rivers until a moat of cobalt encircled Majelic’s frame. The serum congealed, its density increasing as the river of sap assumed a spherical and then humanoid form. The new figure stood over Majelic’s prone body for several moments and watched as falling raindrops stroked her limbs before scooping the angel into freshly formed arms and venturing towards the great caves. Several nymphs wandered towards the mouths of the caverns to peer at this new creature cradling Majelic in the storm. They had never seen an entity such as Mercy before, for virtues and powers were forbidden to part from their host bodies save when in the Blessed Isle.

Mercy turned to face the nymphs. She called to them telepathically. "Can you shelter my host?"

The nymphs cocked their heads and studied Mercy suspiciously. Had she really asked them for shelter? Mercy had no facial features to speak of, and the nymphs wondered how so strong a voice could escape from a face with no form of egress. They shook their heads solemnly and wandered back into the depths of the cave.

Had she eyes, Mercy would have wept. "Please! I know that you do not trust me but..." She set the angel back down upon the ground. "I am willing to leave if you will just shelter her." As she backed away several steps, Mercy nodded with satisfaction as the nymphs once again drew closer.

Mercy ascended into the air, shaking her head as the nymphs tore from the caves to carry her host to safety. The sprites scowled at her as she hovered above them.

I must remember that others will be wary of me while I am in this form. She dispersed through the atmosphere, breaking her body into minuscule particles in order to ride the hurricane winds to the Creator's citadel. Her form had the consistency and shape of droplets of mercury. No matter. The seraphim will grant me an audience with the Creator—or there will be Hell to pay.

********

The Creator’s palace was a brilliant thing—even in the approaching darkness of the storm. Crystal balustrades glistened as if icicles; chrome steps cut like rivers through an endless plain of palace floors. Stained glass windows were set like hieroglyphs in marble walls; each pane told a tale of Heaven’s existence. In calmer times, soul-light would stream through the cut glass to display the sequential artistry across infinite pathways encircling the citadel’s walls. During the storm, the panes rattled beneath a torrent of precipitation. Several of them shattered underneath the pressure. Ferocious winds howled throughout the barren plazas of the palace.

Beads of royal blue traveled twixt the raindrops and were tossed to and fro by the whim of the winds. As the palace walls drew nearer, the cerulean drops would move according to their own desires. They collected on the verdant sill of a shattered window. Beads drew to pools and pools drew to limbs until Mercy was whole once more. She braced her arms against the emerald windowsill; indigo limbs curled around the damp stone as she eased her way past jagged shards of broken glass. Her bosom rose and fell rapidly, droplets of water clung to the soft spheres that were her breasts. The pulsing of her form was the only movement in the uninhabited hallway. She assumed the populace had barricaded themselves inside the great temples and meeting halls to seek relief from the storm.

"Hold fast, Mercy. Stay where you are!"

The pathway erupted in a blaze of white fire. Spirals of black soot swirled like twisters at the base of the colorless flames. A contingent of seraphim appeared in the holy incandescence; down below the tale of Heaven was told as their light drained from stained glass. Mercy bowed her head in pain. Though she was first of all the angels, it still hurt her eyes to gaze upon those who burned with such concentrated holiness.

"Explain your presence!"

"I wished to converse with the Creator." Mercy could feel her body tremble as the power of the approaching seraphim singed her form. She lost hold of her firmness of frame. Ripples appeared in her limbs. Digits fused together.

"Did you? Or did you wish to lead us from the trail of our target?" The Host chieftain grew closer, grimacing as Mercy cringed beneath his force. The flames of his blazing locks lapped doggedly at the sky like the tongue of a dehydrated beast. "I see that you do not even have the dignity to sheathe yourself with a host body! And here you wish to speak with the Creator! Where is your throne, Mercy? Where is Majelic?"

"In the Forest of Remembrance."

The chieftain glared at her with disgust. "Wrong." He snapped his fingers; two soldiers flew instantly to his side. He nodded with approval as he noted that one of the officers carried Mercy's limp host delicately in his arms. The chieftain looked pointedly at Mercy and then at the lifeless throne. "Animate it."

Mercy bowed her head, shivering as the lowered sphere lost its shape and bled into the neck and shoulders that had once supported it. Her breasts slid from her chest, continuing downward to add girth to her hips and pressing even further to form a thick blue soup at her heels, which shimmered against the marble tile. The azure sap rolled towards its host, which had been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Coating Majelic’s brown limbs, the fluid burrowed into her pores and lapped against her orifices, slowly making its way into the body’s core.

Often, Mercy had dreams of destroying her host and floating free and unfettered of the bonds of flesh, angelic though they may be. She had already merged with Majelic, taking the throne's soul into herself to make a new concept of Mercy and accomplish her divine task as a virtue. The host body was nothing but dead weight to her now—a bag of flesh that limited her power and mobility. Yet in ways it gave her power beyond her wildest dreams. Thrones were of a much higher caste than virtues in angelic society, and formed the Grand Council, the legislative branch of Elysium’s government. Majelic held the highest position a throne could occupy, chief advisor to the Creator.

Her breath quickened as she eased into her host and began to bring life to the various aspects of its form. She winced slightly; the pressure that the body placed upon Mercy as it enveloped her was unbearable. Still, she was Majelic once more.

The Host chieftain yanked the binary angel up from the crimson rug. His teeth gnashed together as if grinding gears. "Heed my words, Majelic of Mercy! Had circumstances been different, your life would have ended this day!"

She turned from his gaze, belittling his fury. "They are not different."

"For this time." He cast a thin smile upon her as he brought his mouth down upon her delicate ear. His sizzling breath warmed her lobe; his words would brand her soul. "You are worthless, Majelic, a disgrace to the name of throne and virtue. Your body was once mortal, and your virtue has once again blatantly disregarded the laws of the Creator. That is why the Council voted to oust your tainted brood from Elysium. Remember that." He shoved her back against the doors to the Creator’s quarters. "Know that with each step you take in Elysium, you are not wanted here."

Majelic nodded to him coldly in farewell as she turned to enter the Creator’s chambers. The seraphim vanished in a flash of light.