Atop the grand cathedral, a little boy sat by himself. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and he was barefoot. He held a single, shining feather in his hand. He raised it slowly toward the stars as if offering it to the heavens. He looked no older than ten. A dark ram's horn curled from the left side of his head, and a pair of white angelic wings were folded behind him. Suspended above his head was a halo — unstable, flickering, dancing upon his black hair.
"I didn't ask to be born like this."
All I want is to be loved, just like the morning stars.
Let heaven love me, just this once."
He tucked the feather into his white robe and stepped into the warm, quiet church. The heavy doors closed behind him with a soft creak. Colored light from the stained-glass windows fell across the floor, painting it in reds and golds. A saint looked down from the glass, calm and still. At the altar stood a priest in a dark cassock, awaiting the boy's arrival.
"Miel, it's time for dinner. The others are already at the table. Come at once."
"Alright, Father Emmanuel. I'll be there," the boy, called Miel, replied in a soft voice.
Miel walked up to Father Emmanuel and took his left hand. The priest led him down a narrow corridor to a simple dining room. The table was already set with bread and soup. Two other priests sat in two of the four chairs around it.
"Good evening, Father Jean. And a good evening to you too, Father Armond."
"Good evening, Miel. Quick—sit down before the food gets cold."
Miel took his seat beside Father Emmanuel. They said their prayers and began to eat quietly.
"The cardinal has summoned us for a meeting. We'll leave after dinner," Father Armond said, breaking the silence.
"You're leaving again? You went to a meeting two days ago."
"We'll be back by midnight. Don't pout. Oh — and we got you this."
Father Jean pulled out a small leather copy of the Scriptures, featuring an intricate weaving of Miel on the cover.
"Thank you, Fathers."
"Know that we all love you. Go to bed, and don't forget to say your prayers."
After the meal, Miel ran up to the priests and hugged all three of them.
"I love you all too."
"Goodnight then, our little light," Father Jean said, placing a hand on Miel's shoulder. The room then echoed with soft laughter.
After the priests left for their meeting, Miel went to his room — a narrow iron bed covered with a plain white quilt. He fell onto it. A small window let in a soft glow that lit the entire space. Miel stared at the ceiling, hugging his little book.
"The books said 'conceit' would give me the freedom I want.
I just need to find the clown and take it from him.
Then, my papa in heaven and my mama in hell will be with me forever and ever.
I won't need to hide anymore. I'll be able to travel the world and go anywhere — even heaven."
A tear ran down his cheek as his eyes closed, and he drifted into sleep.
At midnight, with the full moon shining bright, Miel got out of bed. He walked barefoot to the church's main hall. The bright full moon shone through the stained-glass window. He lit a few candles and walked up to the altar and began to sing a hymn, as gentle as a lullaby sung by a heavenly being:
Let heaven love me.
Though I might be damned.
Let Earth accept me,
For who I truly am.
Let all embrace me.
Though I walk alone,
A stranger wandering
Far from home…
Before he finished the last line of the hymn, he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him. He turned to behold a kaleidoscope of colorful glass flying in all directions—and a figure: a man silhouetted by the light from the room coming through the window. Miel moved out of the way, and the man landed in front of him, in front of the altar.
"Father Emmanuel... Father Jean… Father Armond!" Miel shouted out of fear, even though he knew they were not there.
"They're dead. "I killed them all," the figure said, his voice cold.
"No…" Miel whispered as tears started pouring down his face.
"Now, forgive me, young one, but I have to end you too."
The man started walking toward Miel with his hands in his pockets and a cold look in his eyes.
Miel, still with tears in his eyes, began to move back as the man drew closer.
"No… You promised… you lied, you lied! Why does everyone I love leave me? Why, Heaven? What did I do?
No! The world is too cruel. I won't let it break me—I'll let them all see.
All the gods.
All men.
All angels.
And all Hell… shall love me!" Miel screamed, as his wings stretched out and flames began spiraling around him in a sort of holy dance.
The man removed his hands from his pockets. A sword of light appeared in his grip as if materializing out of thin air. Miel, filled with rage, flew at him, tears streaming down his face. He swung his hand toward the man, and a wave of flames erupted. The man dodged the flames and charged at Miel, swinging the sword at him. Miel blocked the sword with his wings and flapped them, sending a flock of sharp feathers at the man. He moved like a dancer, dodging them all. But then, a beam of light shot from Miel struck him before he could avoid the last one. He fell to the ground.
Miel, still battle-minded, expected another attack—but none came.
He looked at the body and began crying again as he descended to the ground.
"I'll find him… I swear it.
I'll be free… I'll be loved…"
Before the words left his head, a beam of light hit him in the head, and he fell to the ground—bleeding… immobile… lifeless.
There was another clone of the same man behind Miel, near the church doors. He sighed, put his hands in his pockets, and walked out of the church. As he walked away, the church began to burn, and it slowly started to crumble.
"Yo, Lucy," the man shouted—and an angel appeared, floating beside him as he walked.
"The abomination is dead. That was the last one," he said.
The moment he said that the angel began to laugh hysterically.
"Take them now, as agreed," the man said.
The angel smiled and extended his hand for a handshake. The man shook the angel's hand, then it grinned and vanished into thin air.
"Let Heaven love me… I wish," he let out as a tear streaked down his cheek.
Miel's body lay still at the altar, his white robe stained with blood. The church around him was in flames, wood cracking, and smoke filling the air.
Outside, the man walked away without looking back.
The fire grew, swallowing the walls, and the stained glass.
The boy was gone. The church was gone, and all that remained was ash.