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In other news: 'Hidden Warrior' ends on ANOTHER FRIGGIN CLIFFHANGER. Grrrrrr. It's an excellent book, and I recommend it, if only so that I can have company in my misery. So nyah.
Another snip-ficlet for In Nomine.
I don't know how I should be feeling. It's a lie, a grave that is worse than empty, a mourning for someone who doesn’t need to be mourned. On the other hand, it's a true loss. My Angel is not dead, but the man I knew him as /is/. And he won't be coming back. I am only human; I cannot help but mourn the flesh, even as I know the soul is safe and already returned. I want to cry, but at the same time, crying feels like a betrayal of all those other mourners who have stood by graves and wept for someone they'd never see again.
I go to one knee in the muddy grass. Two fingers kissed by rain and my lips, carrying the message to the cold stone. "I'll miss you."
"I'm right here." I have to fight the instinctive urge to go for the pistol concealed in my jacket. His.../her/ voice is not yet familiar, but the catlike way she has of sneaking up on a person is. I can hear the confusion, the puzzlement and concern as she watches me pay tribute to a meaningless memorial. "I'm not dead, Jane."
"I know," I say, rising quickly, and brushing myself off. I give him a smile. "Just keeping up appearances."
"Ah," she says, and offers me her arm. I'll have to let her know, sometime later, that women don't generally do that. For now, I just take it and lean a little closer.
She's not dead, no. But /he/ is, and I miss him already.
Another snip-ficlet for In Nomine.
I don't know how I should be feeling. It's a lie, a grave that is worse than empty, a mourning for someone who doesn’t need to be mourned. On the other hand, it's a true loss. My Angel is not dead, but the man I knew him as /is/. And he won't be coming back. I am only human; I cannot help but mourn the flesh, even as I know the soul is safe and already returned. I want to cry, but at the same time, crying feels like a betrayal of all those other mourners who have stood by graves and wept for someone they'd never see again.
I go to one knee in the muddy grass. Two fingers kissed by rain and my lips, carrying the message to the cold stone. "I'll miss you."
"I'm right here." I have to fight the instinctive urge to go for the pistol concealed in my jacket. His.../her/ voice is not yet familiar, but the catlike way she has of sneaking up on a person is. I can hear the confusion, the puzzlement and concern as she watches me pay tribute to a meaningless memorial. "I'm not dead, Jane."
"I know," I say, rising quickly, and brushing myself off. I give him a smile. "Just keeping up appearances."
"Ah," she says, and offers me her arm. I'll have to let her know, sometime later, that women don't generally do that. For now, I just take it and lean a little closer.
She's not dead, no. But /he/ is, and I miss him already.
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Nice.
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It's... hm. Probably more like reincarnation, to the average human Soldier. Same soul, maybe even the same memories, but something's lost and something else is changed and... well. Yeah.
...What you ficced. ^^
(Of course, the perspective of a Soldier of Dreams might be interestingly different. They'd interact with their angels in the Marches and their own dreamscapes, where the angels can be more honestly themselves than they can on Earth. So actually encountering one on Earth, in Vessel, in Role...)
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