[As soon as it is said he knows he shouldn't have asked, but at least the favor of this communication affords him distance when those words appear before his eyes. Distance to consider — what is this? Because it is not how it happened. It was not God who had beaten Lucifer; it was not God who had shorn Lucifer's beautiful wings from his body. It was him. It was Michael, who still recalls the hot of Lucifer's blood on his hands, his pleading, his tears of fury and grief as Michael dragged him back, over and over, across the ground while their Father sat stoic and silent as stone upon that lofty seat.]
I didn't abandon you. [You — are you, you? — you left me.] I can't tell you that you're wrong because I don't remember any of that.
What do you mean He died? God cannot die.
[Easier to focus on this fact than the hurting confession of the rest.]
no subject
I didn't abandon you. [You — are you, you? — you left me.] I can't tell you that you're wrong because I don't remember any of that.
What do you mean He died? God cannot die.
[Easier to focus on this fact than the hurting confession of the rest.]