A cold breeze began to stir her feathers, but within moments, the breeze changed into a rustling wind that swirled and clawed at her like a pack of angry birds. The wind whispered of magic and punishment.
Tremors swept through her body. What is this?
In horror, she watched as her black feathers were torn from her wings. Pain came sharp and awful. Each feather was like a nail pulled from her fingertips. She screamed, trying to hold her wings, but the wind continued its assault. Deep red blood ran down her wings, painting her remaining feathers.
Time seemed to slow. Her feathers drifted behind her in a cloud, mixing with the snow, dark smudges against the pure white.
“No!” She sobbed.
But instead of stopping, the wind picked up, harder and faster.
A primal scream tore from her lips. A sound that continued without end, echoing through her. I need to escape!
Blindly, she climbed to her feet and began running through the snow on legs that shook, but the vicious wind was everywhere. A whirlwind without escape. Her feathers were no longer just being pulled free, but plucked out as if by angry hands. The pain was mind-numbing. But just when she thought she couldn’t take another moment of it, her entire wings were torn from her back.
Crumbling to her knees, her mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out. Pain made every nerve in her body scream. And yet, she couldn’t move. Warm blood ran down her back, soaking her flesh.
Time passed. She had no idea how long. But she remained kneeling, overwhelmed by her suffering.
Eventually, the pain was replaced by a strange numbness. Reaching with fingers that shook, she touched her back. There was nothing left. Nothing but bloody gashes that would soon be no more than pale scars. She reached behind her and traced the wounds with her fingers as hot tears slid down her cheeks.
Why did this happen? What cruel being would punish me so?
Her memories were vacant. Empty. And yet, she knew those wings were hers. A part of her always.
I was an angel. But now… now what am I?
There was movement. Light in the distance. She stared at it. Three shapes started toward her across the snowy field.
Blinking through her tears, watching as they came closer and the shapes became men. I don’t know whether to be afraid, or hopeful.
When they saw her, they ran toward her, panic in their gazes.
The first one reached her with outstretched hands, but she cowered back.
He froze, his thoughts written clearly across his handsome face. He didn’t expect her to pull away from him.
“What do you want?” She asked, her voice shaking.
He opened his mouth, then closed it. With a hand that visibly shook, he reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Are you… are you alright?”
She wrapped her arms around her body. “No. I have no memory. No name. And my wings…” She couldn’t finish the rest.
The two other men stopped beside him, and she could feel their stares.
The first man knelt down. “You’re cold. Let us take you home. We can help.”
I don’t know these men. But then, I don’t know anyone. She nodded.
He swept her into his arms and carried her from the field. She stared over his shoulder. But there, on his sleeve, was one of her black feathers. A tiny one. She plucked it from his clothing and clutched it in her hand.
At least I have this.
4
Mark carried their sweet Surcy in his arms. She shivered uncontrollably, her face ashen, dirty, and tear-stained. He was so grateful they found her. He’d feared they’d lost her forever.
But I couldn’t have imagined that we’d find her, wings and memory gone.
Not that it truly matters.
If she didn’t remember them, they could make her love them again. They would start at the beginning and make her fall in love with them again.
And so what if she wasn't an angel anymore? That made things less complicated. The only real question was what had happened to her.
Everything else can be worked out, as long as we’re together.
He slid into the back seat, with her still in his arms, and settled her in his lap. The amount of blood that coated her back terrified him, feeling cold and sticky against his skin. Immortals could only be killed a couple of different ways, and certainly not from blood loss, but it didn’t make her injuries any less frightening.
He held her tighter, wishing he could take away her wounds. Wishing he had the power to heal both her mind and her body.
But all I can do is hold her. And keep her safe from this moment on.
At least she didn’t try to pull away. He didn't think he could ever let her go again.
Maybe tonight I’ll finally be able to sleep soundly…
His eternal-brothers climbed into the car. Daniel took the front seat while Tristan rode shotgun. As Daniel started the engine, Mark saw him look back at them in the rearview mirror. His dark eyes were filled with anguish.
Daniel’s faith in goodness was always paper-thin. Mark hoped Surcy’s condition wouldn’t completely destroy him. I hope he’s strong enough to fight for love.
Tristan, on the other hand, didn't look back at them, but Mark could feel the tension radiating from him. He doesn’t know what to do with an emotion like this. With this kind of sadness and disappointment. Tristan’s eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched. He sat unmoving, like a creature carved from stone.
But there’s always so much raging beneath his quiet surface.
That was the thing about eternal-brothers, demons connected together in the afterlife; they always had an inner-sense of each other. Whether they wanted to or not. And his brothers’ misery was so powerful it was nearly suffocating.
Mark wanted to reassure them, but he couldn't. None of them
