I don't remember much about when I was a mortal. It's all very confusing, blurry and fuzzy. The only memory I feel truly confident in is that of my death. I remember a sword being pointed at me. I had a, "Oh shit" moment, knowing I was about to die and it was going to hurt a lot (although, I think my exact thought was, "Oh balls!". Well, it would have been, "Oh testicles!" in Latin, but that doesn't sound the same when converting it to modern English). I remember the fear. Yes... I remember the fear.

I have this very clear image in my brain then. I'm on my knees, sitting on the backs of my legs. I couldn't tell you where I was, nor what I was wearing (if anything at all). All I could tell you is that it was bright—brilliant and scorching. I know what it was now, and I know where I was now, but for the sake of this story and continuity I will say that I hadn't the faintest clue what was happening. One minute I was about to be beheaded (I mean, I could only hope it would be done in one swing, not having to go through having it chopped repeatedly), and the next I was in a warm room that was so warm it was almost uncomfortable, but it felt like home.

A finger was pressed to my forehead, and I distinctly remember my mouth forming a small 'o'. I say this because when the finger touched me, it was sublime. There really are few words to describe it; intoxicating, ecstatic, addicting, comforting, perfect. The closest thing to it physically would be an orgasm, but this is a shuddering of my very soul. And I felt like if the finger ever stopped touching me, I would die. I was certain.

Then, a voice spoke to me. It wasn't just a voice, male nor female, but both at once; thousands of voices speaking to me inside my head, wrapping around me. It should have been terrifying, but instead I felt like I was a small child and had just fallen into the loving arms of my mother.

You are destined for great things, the voice of the many told me.

I didn't know what it meant, and at that instant I didn't care. All I knew right then was one thing, and one thing only; one thought, one feeling consumed me:

Happiness.

From there I remember being laid out in a bed. I remember lying in wonder, contemplating how I had gotten here, on this bed, horizontal. My sluggish brain tried to parse out why, exactly, my back felt weird. And even as I wondered all this in my head, not using my lips to speak, another voice was chuckling and telling me that it was okay I didn't remember, that I was going through a final refractory period, and that everything would settle soon enough. I didn't understand the context of "refractory period", especially when I looked down and found myself fully clothed in a white toga with a golden rope around my waist as a belt, comfortable brown thongs on my feet (mind you, none of which I had previously owned or had in my possession at any point). My confusion furthered when there wasn't a woman in bed with me. In fact, when I looked over I was startled to find the source of the voice was a man.

I immediately fell in love. Now, while fleeting feelings of what might be considered a crush of some sort would pass my mind from time to time, this love I felt wasn't homosexual in nature. It was, but it wasn't all at once. Remember the duality of Existence and Nothing? My love for this being before me was that. It wasn't sexual because it went beyond the sexual. It wasn't romantic because it was beyond romanticism. It was an instant, sudden, deeply profound love, one of kinship, of lovers, of brothers. I absolutely adored him all at once. I wanted him around me always, fully—truthfully, I wanted to be him. I knew right then and there I would emulate this person for the rest of my days. The level of devotion I felt was unlike any other I had ever felt towards anyone, myself included. I was immediately reduced to a selfless puddle of goop.

I think on some level he must have understood my feelings, if not actually heard them (for angels can communicate non-verbally), because he looked very, very amused.

"I'm sorry," he said, and now that the 'refractory period' was over and I was a fully-sentient being once more, his voice sounded like honey to me. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," I said at once, because it was. This man before me could startle me all he wanted to for the rest of time. As I said that, I also became aware of the fact that I had sat up in bed, rather abruptly. I didn't even have to comment on my sudden wooziness before this man's hand shot out, gripping my shoulder to steady me.

More lighthearted laughter, but I didn't miss the worried undercurrent it carried. "Go slow, take it easy—are you alright?"

My shoulder was positively vibrating where his hand touched it. Unable to speak, I nodded. Looking pleased, he let go.

I wasn't ready for it. It felt like I had just walked out into the winter snow without any covering. The shock of it made me gasp. He evidently wasn't ready for my reaction, either, because he immediately clamped down on my shoulder once more. Relief and warmth returned to my body, and I relaxed.

"Oh my," he said, perfect brow furrowing. "I shouldn't have touched you. Even as you are now, it was too much. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I repeated, because in that moment everything was alright. Everything couldn't have been better, in fact.

The man before me gave a proper laugh, and I felt myself flush in its beauty. He cast me a rueful smile.

"If its alright, then why are you looking at me like a maiden that's never been drunk before, fawning over her crush?"

That snapped my mind back into some sort of focus. I could feel my blush turning full-bodied, being called out like that.

"I'm sorry," he apologized yet again, this time slowly dragging his hand away as he spoke. The warmth oozed away with it, but this time it was acceptable. "I've just wanted to touch you for such a long time now I got carried away. This is a very new experience to me; I didn't think the bond would be as strong seeing as we are equal now."

I hadn't a clue what he was rambling about, but that was fine. He could ramble at me until I perished. When he spoke again, the last of his fingertips drifted away, and I gave a less-pronounced shiver. Still looking worried, he hesitated before letting his arm down.

"I'm the one known as Mikha'el."

Mikha'el was stunning, if I haven't made that apparent yet. His skin was bronze, looking close to the metal itself. He had a mop of perfectly curled blonde hair on his head, which playfully dusted his brow and eyebrows. Occasionally a rogue strand would hit his eye, and he would shake his head in an unconscious, but completely adorable, way. (That may be the first and last time I describe anything as adorable, so, enjoy it.)

His eyes were piercing. Right now they were soft and filled with love; I would come to learn how twisted they could become, alight with righteous indignation. He could be terrifying in his own right, but I didn't know that. Not yet. Right now I was just lost in the crystal blues, so light they literally looked translucent (I hadn't seen my own eyes yet, which would be another wonder).

His mouth? Perfect. Small, the exact fit for his broad face. Perfectly shaped, perfectly supple, looking soft and new as a newborn's. When he smiled, wrinkles crinkled at his eyes, disappearing once his face was slack. I was looking at a living statue. It was jarring, horrific and beautiful all at once. (Once again, I was obviously to the transformation I myself had taken.)

"What might I call you?" Mikha'el asked inquisitively.

It was all at once I understood something was wrong. I didn't know my name. I think I said something completely uncouth, like a "huh?", or maybe even just a grunt. Smiling like he understood some secret that I wasn't privy to (which was exactly the situation), he spoke to me softly, eyebrows raised.

"Ah, yes, of course you wouldn't know. Apologies for my further misstep. This is all rather new to me. You were my first ward, and your presence here is making me rather excitable. I'm forgetting simple things, like mortal angels aren't allowed to remember their lives least it lead to lust for their previous lives."

Seeing as I was a Roman man living in the times of Grecian antiquity, you can probably see my confusion. I knew of Hades and Persephone, of daemons—not the connotation that word brings now. Daemons were the closest things to angels. But Mikha'el said angels. I only vaguely knew what he meant, and I certainly didn't have a fucking clue I was one of them.

"Come," Mikha'el said, draping an arm around my shoulders, causing me to shudder slightly at his touch. "I will show you, friend."

I wasn't sure what I had done to deserve that title, but I took it willingly and whole-heartedly.

What greeted me made me gasp. Loudly, in fact. We were up in a stone building, pillars holding up the massive slabs of concrete roof. And while a cobble-stone pathway peeked out, there wasn't a ground. There wasn't a ground, or a sky—rather, we were in the sky. There were clouds everywhere. And as we stood at the balcony, and I began gripping it until my knuckles turned white, I suddenly understood what Mikha'el meant by angels, because they were everywhere.

The women wore long dresses of white in various versions—off the shoulder, one shoulder, short sleeved, long. Shirt hems, long hems, medium. Some women, clearly some rank of importance, wore uniforms, pants included. The men wore togas similar to my own; some wore pants. Yet others wore this military looking uniform, with its sleek black shirt and pants, piping of different colors moving diagonally across the chest with matching colored bands around the waist (I had assumed—correctly—these were rank designations).

As I stood, outright gaping, I was overwhelmed. Everyone had wings. Large, fluffy, white, majestic wings. Some had more than one pair. At the last moment a rather large man walked past, wearing one of the black uniforms; that man held six wings, three on each side. They were massive, and as he walked by other angels scurried out of his way. I knew it had less to do with making room for him and his enormous wings, and more with his rank and the serious scowl he had on his face.

Unable to contain my curiosity, bordering panicked fear, I turned to Mikha'el.

"I didn't survive the sword, did I?"

And Mikha'el was laughing, and it sounded like a clarion. I didn't find it very funny though, my death. Before I could stop myself, I scowled.

"Please don't be angry," Mikha'el said immediately, laugh dying immediately. "Er, I'm sorry. I'm not—I'm not very good at this."

To my horror, Mikha'el blushed. He full on blushed, and wrung his hands in front of him, and no, no no, I would have none of that. I tentatively reached out, fingers brushing against the black fabric of his suit. When he didn't pull away, I gripped his arm.

"It's fine," I assured again, getting lost in his eyes, because, no really, they were gorgeous. "I'm just... Very confused, is all."

"Might I hug you?"

I blinked, further confused. "Er, I—I guess?"

Mikha'el pulled me in for a very tight hug. I was absolutely panicked and baffled when a strangled noise escaped his throat. It sounded like a cut-off sob.

"What—"

But he cut me off, pulling away. To my horror he, in fact, had tears standing in his eyes. Even so, he smiled at me. He positively beamed at me.

"Thank you. I have waited a very long time to be able to do that."

I was at a complete loss. I didn't want to make Mikha'el cry, or worse. So when I spoke, it was very slowly, very cautiously. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

"Walk with me," he said, slipping his arm around my shoulders again and he began to guide me towards a set of stone steps that led out into the cloud-filled streets. "I need to show you around, anyway."

As we walked, I noticed something immediately. First was the fact that Mikha'el had to halt his words every few sentences to greet someone who had said hello. He was very polite about the constant interruptions, downright jovial I'd say. I also noticed the absolute reverence that graced people's faces as soon as they laid eyes on him (pun intended). Not wishing to interrupt him further, I kept this observation to myself.

"I am your guardian angel, you see."

"My what?"

"Guardian angel. An angel sent to look after a mortal. Not everyone has one." Mikha'el winked at me then. "There's something special enough about you that God decided to bestow one upon you."

"God?"

"Yes, God," he replied with the same smooth manner that a teacher instructs a child with. Not exactly condescending, but not exactly patient, either.

"As in—"

"One God. Yes. I am speaking of our Father." Reading my mind (as I would come to find out that, yes, that's a thing), Mikha'el raised a finger to silence the words not even formed on my tongue yet. "Not your mortal father, though bless him for procreating you. I'm talking about God."

"Hello Mikha'el," a particularly beautiful angel said, dipping into a curtsy so low her nose disappeared into the clouds at her feet.

Mikha'el bowed deeply, but not nearly as deeply as the gesture had been given. "Hello."

The angel batted her eyes at me. She was really lovely. I couldn't help blushing.

"And who is this?"

"Ah, yes, well, we're getting to that." And before I could say anything he had my arm linked with his and he was hurrying away with me.

I looked over my shoulder to try and see her, but was instead met with a face full of feathers. I sputtered, not realizing they were my own. With my brain still working in the confines of my mortal vessel, I spun around, trying to figure out how I had become entangled in someone's wings.

It wasn't until Mikha'el ran his hand through my feathers did I comprehend they were my feathers. I halted my inane spinning, a pleasurable shiver racking my body all at once. When I peeked out of my wing, face flushed, Mikha'el looked impish.

"Sorry."

Bastard wasn't sorry at all. And I loved him for it. It was starting to make sense why I got this one as a guardian angel. As such, I slowly raised my eyebrow.

He giggled. He giggled. "Someone had to stop your spinning before you twirled off a cloud and hurt yourself."

And just like that suddenly he was just a bastard and it wasn't cute. He laughed a little too loudly, clapping my shoulder. As I glowered, he had the audacity to crinkle his nose at me.

"Now, where was I... Ah yes, God."

No longer caring much about being perceived as rude, I interrupted. "So there's a God? But what about Zeus?"

Mikha'el rolled his eyes and sighed. "They exist as well. Not now, but you will shortly be brought to The Library, where you can find out all about the various Gods and Goddesses. This isn't their realm though, this is ours."

I screwed up my face. "Then why am I here? I follow the pantheon."

Mikha'el merely shrugged. "There are things God doesn't explain, even to me."

The phrasing of the sentence... Well, it was a lot to swallow. Deciding to side step for now, at least until I felt a bit steadier on my feet knowing I was dead and suddenly had wings, a thought occurred to me.

"Wait, does that mean—"

Mikha'el groaned, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, I knew you would bring that up. Yes, Persephone exists. Though I don't understand your obsession with the woman, she's really nothing special."

Out of playful spite, and actual hoping, I grinned. "Can I meet her?"

Mikha'el groaned again and gave a lofty sigh. "Yes, I suppose. Not now though." He paused, and then added with a grumble, "Not anytime soon."

We lapsed into silence then, Mikha'el walking stiffly and yet somehow lazily all at once, while I gaped about like a tourist. Throughout it all, everyone kept saying their hellos to us. The pair of us walked until the sky around us became streaked with brilliant red, shifting into shades of soft pinks and periwinkles. I watched in wonderment as angels emerged from various houses, holding long stemmed candle holders. With these candles they lit street lamps, all the while singing.

I had come to stop in the middle of the street. Hearing the soft cacophony of angels singing for the first time was absolutely overwhelming, beautiful, an all-consuming epiphany. I wanted to mingle my voice with theirs, but I didn't know the words. It was some strange, garbled language, but it was also delectable and soothing. Yet another opposite equal—guttural and yet mellifluous.

"They're speaking Enochian. They are greeting the night, thanking the day for all it has given us. You will learn it in time. You will add your voice to theirs. It's your right to, as one of us."

I hadn't even noticed that I was crying until Mikha'el clasped his hands on either side of my face. My cheeks tingled where his skin met mine, leaving trails of prickly vibrations as he wiped some of my tears away with his thumbs. He smiled, pressing his forehead against mine.

"In fact, I think your voice will be the most beautiful one of them all."

Later that night, I was lying in bed. Mikha'el had brought me to my abode, where I would be living from now on. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, from the day. As soon as I saw a bed I flopped down onto it, not caring if doing so in front of a guest would be rude. Truthfully I could have gone to sleep right then and there.

"I'm sorry, I know this is a lot for you," Mikha'el told me softly.

I half rolled, looking over my shoulder at him. Or at least best I could, I didn't have full control of my wings yet.

"I honestly don't know what I'm doing," Mikha'el whispered to me, standing in the doorway. "But I promise you, I will do my best for you."

"It's been a wonderful day," I said, giving the first of many slanted truths. I didn't know I'm that moment I literally couldn't lie; I just knew that it truly had been a wonderful day. I had died and made it to Heaven. Heaven was a wondrous place, fulfilling me in ways I never even dreamed were possible.

Yes, the shock of everything took some getting used to. Yes, dealing with my mortality was jarring. And yes, I had a very real fear that this was some sort of fever dream, that I had been run through and was dying somewhere.

But through it all, I had met Mikha'el.

Yes; it had been a wonderful day.

"Tomorrow, first thing," Mikha'el said with utmost seriousness then. His entire shift in demeanor was startling, going from the somewhat aloof man I had spent the day with to an angel who demanded attention. He pointed at me. "We need to name you."

Before I could reply, he dropped his hand and spread his wings. My jaw literally dropped. They were monstrous, six wings, just like the dark skinned man I had seen this morning. And suddenly I understood just how important Mikha'el was here, and I was awestruck. A humble humility engulfed my entire existence, deeply honored this beautiful being had been bequeathed to me. I didn't know what I had done to deserve such a fate, but I made it my goal to shower Mikha'el with my thanks at every opportunity.

Giving me a curt nod then, Mikha'el flapped his wings once, and was gone in the blink of an eye, the soft rustling of feathers echoing in my ears.