• Around and around the wine sloshed in the glass, but the hand controlling the movements held no focus. Two narrow emerald eyes stared blankly ahead through the darkness; lost in thought, no doubt. Aside from the subtle swaying of his right hand and the rise and fall of his exposed chest, outside eyes would find no trace of movement, as had been the case for hours.
    Dimitri Alexander Marqui had contented himself with curling in his throne, free arm draped haphazardly over the side. One leg stretched almost lazily out ahead of him, while the other had been pulled up to press the sole of the knee-length black boot against the edge of the seat. It wasn’t so much a matter of distraction that kept him chained to this spot; it was something deeper, a lack of will to move, while his mind replayed over and over the events constantly troubling the stoic man.
    In the dark room, the glow from a single candelabrum perched on its stand served as the only light in the late hour. The shadows it cast on his face dappled between black and orange, flames capturing his wandering gaze for a long moment; reflecting there in the black, endless centers, until his face jerked away again to some unseen wonder on the far wall.
    He didn’t love her. At least, he didn’t think he did. What was love anyway, especially toward a mere mortal; a creature far beneath himself? But that did not mean, under any circumstances, that she did not belong to him. She was his; in mind, body, and soul, for all eternity—until she returned to the Earth, provided that day came.
    Truth be told, yes, he was enraged with Katrina. But it was for Mikhail that his hatred burned deepest. For his own brother to betray him in this manner, it was unforgivable. Absently his index finger thrummed against the side of the glass.
    Mikhail had been a fool.
    But it was he who was the bigger fool, to have allowed this fiasco to occur in the first place. The way that Mikhail’s eyes had smiled upon the young girl, the way that he constantly rushed to her defense when it was obvious with any other woman that he’d not cared; for Dimitri to ignore the signs for so long, it had been inviting disaster, and in the back of his mind he considered he might loathe himself more than either of the other guilty parties.
    The memory continued even now to burn him: the dimly-lit bedroom, the two bodies entwined together, his brother’s melodious laughter as he nestled close with whispered words of affection to Dimitri’s wife, only the sheets covering their nude shame.
    A low growl rose from the pit of Dimitri’s being. It burned with the intensity of Hell’s flames, that haunting scene. Without warning, the glass in his hand was flung across the room, sending the deep red liquid spilling across the floor, and the delicate object shattered on impact with the wall to break the silence.
    Slowly he rose from his throne. There remained only one option; he knew, and he accepted it, moving with catlike grace toward the door back out into the hall.
    Mikhail would agonize, just as he had for so long.

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    The Marqui brothers looked nothing alike. Their main common ground resided in the knowledge that neither particularly suited late 18th century France, contrary to the clothes they masqueraded in or the fluency they could recite the language with. Physically their age gap only spanned four or so years, but in actuality it lasted nearly a millennium in mortal time, and neither cared to count their full lifespan thus far. The younger, Dimitri, physically around thirty, was not impressively tall for angel or human standards; which he made up for with his startlingly large stature, built of pure muscle. His skin was fairer, and his neatly-groomed pale blonde hair commonly wound up mistaken for silvery white. Mikhail on the other hand favored longer hair, the very reason why his dirty blonde locks were constantly slicked and pulled back, to fall inches below the bottom of his shoulder blades. Unlike Dimitri, his flesh was full of life, tinted a healthy tan by nature, and his body was a looming tower; he stood a good five inches over the other at 6'4". Mikhail was the older brother in every sense of the role, and at one point he had considered himself the wiser brother, too.
    Had.
    These days, Mikhail Lancaster Marqui couldn’t be sure of himself. For all of the idiotic, irrational, spontaneous things Dimitri had done… somehow, he wondered if perhaps it was he who had always been in the wrong. Had he allowed his beloved sibling to run rampant for too long? Was this fate he was now cursed to a product of his own failure as a guardian angel?
    He didn’t know whom he hurt the most for; Dimitri or Katrina. Oh, how well he remembered the day of Katrina’s wedding to the other angel-in-disguise. How unhappy she had looked then, and how she had cried on his shoulder later that night; it forced a sad smile onto his lips even now. The chains binding his arms and legs to the wall rustled and jerked as he shifted, and his head bowed. But the look on Dimitri’s face when he had caught them together—
    … It had broken Mikhail’s heart more than any look Katrina could ever give him. His own brother, the one above all else he should have remained loyal to... All the while he’d been so wrapped up in making the young girl happy, in preserving—protecting—the porcelain doll, he’d not realized that the most fragile doll of all had been right there in front of him since the beginning, and he’d shattered him into irreparable pieces.
    This was his repentance, spending eternity locked up. Even his outstretched white wings had been tacked painfully with chains, staining parts of the lush feathers a dark red with blood. They ached, begging to be moved and folded, yet this was impossible; the slightest wrong movement riddled them with excrutiating pain.
    The oversized wooden door leading into the dungeon creaked open, and in flooded the first light he’d seen in probably close to a week; he had to squeeze his eyes closed until they had adjusted to the change. It was not Katrina who stepped in, much to his surprise; it was the very man who had placed him in this personal Hell.
    "Dimitri," The name rolled right off his tongue. The reaction Dimitri spared him was one of disdain as he moved into the center of the room, arms folding across his broad chest. Mikhail found himself wishing that the other’d never shown up; at least then he could have suffered in peace, instead of fending off the unshakeable cold chill emanating from his captor. "You didn’t come down here just to stare at me all day long, monsieur. Qu'êtes-vous projetant?"
    "Ferme-la," What made the smoothly-accented voice so harsh were not the words spoken, but instead the apathy the vocalist maintained when speaking them. It made Mikhail cringe, something he instantly regretted when the pain shot straight into his battered wings. "This is your last chance. Swear your allegiance to me, beg forgiveness… Vow that you will never so much as look at her again. I might consider letting you go. Comment à son sujet ?"
    Beg forgiveness…? Swear allegiance? Who did Dimitri think he was talking to; some dog from off the street? The sorrow and sympathy reflecting in the older brother’s ice blue eyes vanished, replaced by dark flashes of anger. "You stupid brat…What the Hell do you think you’re doing?"
    "I should like to ask the same of you, mon frère. She belongs to me. Did you really think I would let you two get away with your little game? Especially you. But you are not entirely at fault. I should have known better than to leave her with a cad like yourself... She was left vulnerable; how could you resist swooping in for the kill? I’d have taken advantage of her, too."
    Mikhail exploded. He thrashed wildly, ignoring the pain in his wings, ignoring the strain upon his arms and legs as the heavy chains reached their limits with deafening clanks. He continued to fight, to try and reach forward with the hopes of striking down his brother in his blind rage. Streams of thick red slipped down from his wrists as the cold metal shackles dug deeper into his bare flesh, and above, the dried stains amidst the ruffled feathers received a fresh coat of scarlet. "You listen to me, and you listen good! You did take advantage of her. Don’t play the role of a saint in this! You stole from her the only thing she had; her life. She was just a child—no, she is a child. You took her dreams away before she could realize them, you shattered her chances for a happy future, and for what? Your own personal enjoyment? She didn’t want to marry you; but you gave her no choice. Not once in this entire shamble of a marriage have I seen you shed one bit of kindness to her, you selfish, arrogant little wretch!" He hollered until he was red in the face, gasping for air. His head lolled back against the hard stone, and for a long moment his eyes were pressed closed against the pounding he himself had caused. "…She’s such a sweet, beautiful girl… inside and out. How can you stand to constantly make her cry? Doesn’t it hurt your heart? Are you so cold, Dimitri…?"
    "..Mikhail… Mikhail. Don't you understand?" Dimitri’s voice wavered between disappointment and amusement, sending a violent shiver up his brother’s spine. When he looked again, the snowy-haired man had one hand covering his face; his body trembled. With tears? No, not likely, Mikhail realized bitterly. "She prayed for someone to give her purpose; for someone to come along who wanted—no, needed her. If you had been listening instead of shutting out the voices, then maybe she would have been yours instead. You chose to turn your back on our Heavenly duties. I was the one who answered her call; not you. I was the one she summoned. She belongs to me."
    "..Human beings…" With great difficulty, Mikhail sucked in a long, shuddering breath, before slowly lowering his head. His voice was kept quiet. This was his final chance to make Dimitri see; to force him to understand the concept he’d constantly neglected to teach him in the past. For too many centuries the other had been allowed to live with the foolish, even arrogant mindset of a true angel, and Mikhail knew it was his fault; this being the very thing he’d sought to avoid when he’d taken his child brother and abandoned Heaven for the mortal world. "Human beings are not toys for you to play with. They are not objects for use until you get sick of them."
    Laughter erupted, a piercing sound echoing within the vast dungeon. It wasn’t humor. It wasn’t jest. It was the laughter of a madman, producing another snap of the younger’s name from Mikhail’s hoarse throat.
    "Mon Dieu! But it is so much fun!" Dimitri cried out, but the laughter did not lessen. His arms opened wide, only to lower slowly again, and only as they slipped into his pockets did the laughter finally cease. He was back to himself then; emotionless both in tone and expression, bringing the other’s blood to a boil, "I’m sorry. You were serious? Mortals are worthless. Why do you defend them so? They live only to die; why not let them serve us in their meaningless time here?"
    "What is wrong with you? This isn’t how I raised you, Dimitri! Have you lost your mind completely?"
    "Perhaps I have," Came the abrupt, and unexpected, quip. Deep in those emerald-hued optics lurked something Mikhail’d never noticed, something he was positive the younger Marqui brother had never shown in the past. It was a fire, burning with intensity enough to engulf his entire being and reduce him to ashes. Hatred. The tight-lipped frown carved expertly into his handsome features could never do the bone-chilling emotions visible in his eyes justice, and Mikhail knew that the end had finally arrived; it was too late to rectify the mistakes he’d made with his beloved sibling. "For the longest time… I’ve hated you, Mikhail. I’ve hated everything about you. You’ve always, always been everything that I can’t be. Everything I want to be. It’s you that she smiles at, it’s you that she adores, that she loves. It’s you who makes her happy. Even your dance with her was… perfect. You, the clumsy one! She looks at me with disgust. But you… Every time she sees you, her face lights up. Do you have any idea how terribly it aches?"
    Mikhail wanted to answer; but to say yes would have been a complete lie. No, he didn’t know, nor could he begin to imagine. He’d always been the center of attention, especially with the ladies. Dimitri hadn’t seemed to mind… On the contrary, he’d encouraged it, reserving himself for special occasions and equally special people. Now, any maiden could testify to having lost their heart to Dimitri. His distance brought more intrigue than he evidently knew. To be told with the most serious of tones that the other was hurt by one girl who hadn’t fallen head over heels for him? Dimitri could be such a child sometimes... It was so obvious: he had taken her without her consent, whisking her away to become his wife despite her pleas to be released. What did he expect? Her to swoon over her kidnapper and live happily ever after?
    Then it hit him, momentarily knocking the breath from his lungs. When his wits had been recovered, he finally stammered out, "You love her, mon frère aimé," It was a statement, not a question. The smaller man didn’t admit it, but Mikhail spotted it, guilt written plainly on his sharp features.
    If the situation were not so dire, Mikhail would have laughed, then proposed that he and the other drown their sorrows in wine as they often had done in the past.
    "Do you hear that, Mikhail?" His attention snapped back from the nostalgia to Dimitri in time to catch the explanation of a requiem serenading only the deranged brother’s ears: "The funeral march is playing just for you. I'll rid you of your miserable existence. That way I'll never have to hear that filthy mouth of yours again. It’s time to say goodnight, dearest brother…" When the younger’s left arm extended forward, he let forth a great cry. Crackling to life in the middle of his open palm was a sphere of blinding light, bright and chaotic as lightning itself. His flawless visage was gone; pronounced in his arms, chest, neck, and face were individual veins, throbbing blue under strain. His speech remained steady despite, and Mikhail quickly found himself lost in the words that he spoke. Trapped, like the vermin mesmerized by the Pied Piper. "…The Lord is my shepherd… I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures, and he leadeth me beside the still waters…"
    Every crack in the dreary, vast emptiness of the dungeon suffered illumination. Thin lids could not protect his eyes from the unearthly glow. Mikhail’s body began to thrash once more, unconsciously, struggling to free his senses from their newest threat.
    "He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the path of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death… I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff comfort me."
    He threw back his head, mouth open, eyes struggling valiantly to roll back into the safety of his head, but the scream that had perhaps scratched at his throat resounded only in earsplitting silence. The bleeding of his raw wrists worsened, the flow becoming a steady river pouring through clenched digits along their path to the floor. His back slammed viciously against the wall.
    "…Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over…"
    Suddenly, it was over. The fear, the misery, the agony… They were gone, leaving his body weak with a strange rush of tranquility. The light no longer hurt. As he gazed into it, it was only her face that he could see; Katrina. Smiling just for him, one last time.
    In the end, he wouldn’t be able to save her, after all… Somehow, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Death, wasn’t it supposed to be cold? Not warm and inviting. Oh, but damn his luck, he hadn’t received the opportunity to say his farewells…
    "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
    Like a lullaby, the psalm gently lowered Mikhail into the arms of darkness.
    The light dissipated. Dimitri wearily lowered his arm, dragging in a good, deep breath to regain his bearings. The last of the color drained from the older brother’s normally darker complexion, and in a final motion of defeat his head fell forward, strands of sweat-soaked gold dipping down into a lifeless face.
    "...What have you done…?" A new voice spoke out; a female voice, arrived too late to try to stop the inevitable scene that had seconds before reached its climax. Dimitri straightened his posture before turning to the doorway. She was horrified; the color in her cheeks was gone, and the two deep blue eyes appeared unable to register what she had witnessed. Her hands moved from their previous task of clamping over her mouth, lowering to her sides.
    "Katrina," Dimitri muttered under his breath. Naturally, Katrina’s main focus was not her husband as it should have been, but the other man; she rushed forward, and he considered for a brief flicker in time grabbing hold of her arm to stop her. He didn’t act on the impulse; he would allow her to enjoy her last moments with her beloved Mikhail, no matter how it grated on his nerves…
    He could hear the tears choking her voice as she spoke, "He’s… as cold as… a corpse…"
    Inwardly, Dimitri rolled his eyes, "He isn’t dead. Merely trapped in an eternal slumber. Or would you have preferred I kill him?" He talked so offhandedly that it secretly surprised even himself. The last part, he of course added out of spite; hoping in vain that she took the hint of dropping the subject.
    "This… this can’t be real. Please tell me this isn’t real…" Certainly her words were not meant for his ears. But, they reached him, and they struck him harder than any physical blow could. In one fluid motion, the warrior angel had both spun on his heel to redirect himself to her position and taken firm grip of one slender, fragile arm.
    "This is very real. Get over it; because it isn’t going to change, no matter how you close your eyes and will it to. Is that clear?" He hissed, yanking on the limb to produce a startled cry from the already frightened girl. Only then did the sobs begin. He ignored them, as he always did. When he let her go, it was in favor of exiting the room and into the hall, to return upstairs into the castle's main level; heavy stalking footsteps only fading long after the man, whose heels they chased, had disappeared.