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When I’m not around, Azazel, remember – you have star eyes.
You hear me, Azazel? Remember.
And stars in your eyes will be what shines upon my path to you. Remember.
And when they extinguish… You know me, always had and never told me. I’ll take a sip of wine, I’ll take a sip of salt, I’ll find your eyes, and…
Let there be light, I’ll say, won’t I?
Remember void, Aziraphale? The everlasting black, that pins your eyes to itself, and no matter how hard you shake your head it never ends? That void. There is no moon there to guide one to their purpose, really. Just God there was, yes? And God was Moon and Sun for us, were they not? I believed them. You believe.
I was born in the void, we both were. It’s only that I stayed and you have found your light in their arms, in their soft embrace that strangles you when you make one step aside. I never cared for Sun and Moon, I cared only for the stars and nebulas. Lucifer was the one to create the sun, a new Sun for your lot, the demons. Honestly, cared I for that shiny sphere up there, in the day sky, I would be in his legions.
But there was void, and there was me, and I cherished it and showered it with gifts of my own creation.
And then there was an angel with blue eyes.
What a nice color, I found myself thinking back then. The color of the space, the lightest spots, but untainted with purples and pinks. Only stars were lighter and more radiant than that blue. But so what? I didn’t care back then, did I? Nah, not really, it had never occurred to me what the angel, a silly one and shiny one as I remember now but had been blinded to remember earlier until it was too late, had done. The stupid offer, the stupid smile, the stupid, stupid, stupid wish to help everyone but themself because… Eh, no reason, was there, now really.
And then the angel flies away and I am left with my void, now not so voidy anymore. I glance at the brighter, bluer nebulas and shrug it off, unbothered. And when the bugle roars and shrieks of the Begining of the War, we, me and my void, now fully furnished and as tender as never before, we stay still, resting in the sounds of crushing stars and myriads of little sharp splinters they create.
And when I’m done lying around and embrace the soft touch of the cosmic dust for one last time in the time to come, though I don’t know it yet, I go down and the Metatron tells me that our world has broken into two. And that the time is now in flow, undeniable and uncontrollable, even for the angels, even for the God. He pats my crooked back, throws a flaming sword into my trembling hands and looks into those desperate eyes of mine, still unbelieving of what he is about to say. I never get to say goodbye to my cradle.
And then they toss me to Eden like a toy is tossed around, used in all the peculiar ways which children never run out of. You used to be a starmaker? Well then, stars are like flames in a way, yes? Untouchable, hot and beautiful. Your hands won’t burn then.
And then…
Then there was an owl.
I didn’t know what an owl was back then. Had to ask Eve. She was a bright and a nice thing. Humans are just, in general, bright and nice things. I miss my void sometimes, sure, but, in all honesty, perhaps I should have questioned not for stars but for the thinking two-legged monkeys, roaming around that little planet to which my void was just a decoration for. A pretty wallpaper which is still as insulting as ever.
But, yes, an owl. The first demon I’ve ever met, and the only one that ever mattered. Sorry no sorry, Lucifer. Who cares for a sun anyway?
Demons, I didn’t have that strong an opinion on them back then. Just the guys that broke the balance or whatever and kicked off all that bullshit with the apocalypse. And so the apocalypse was planned then? That blasted Armageddon. And the Fall? Oh, and the Great-Great War that some won’t shut up about? All the way from the Beginning, yeah? Well, what else could it be but ineffable, am I right?
The owl, the demon had silly, unruly curls. They jumped around their face, mingled with light feathers. And on the face of the demon there was void. Still empty and lonely as I saw it back then.
We talked, just a bit… And, uh… Well, it went down like a lead balloon, hah?
…Yeah, I recall seeing the owl later. Many years later, now that years were a thing. And, oho, looking at the void I was! Mesmerized, staring into the black. The times when there was nothing but void were long, long gone… Now, when the void had pinned my eyes to itself, I didn’t dare to look away, did not dare to lose it again to the light of day.
And that’s when it happened. Precisely.
I saw the first star in your eyes.
I catch a glimpse of it, and curiosity takes its turn. Ah, who cares about the ark, about the world around, yeah? I stare intently as a new void in my existence bursts to life for the first time.
Stars are like flames, Azazel, remember? They’re radiant and joyous. What do you say, angel with a flaming sword? What do you say as you beam…
I look for the stars every time we meet. I strive to make the stars appear again, always. A starmaker stays a starmaker, just as the guardian or, well, guard, which is just the same, yeah? stays a guardian no matter what. No matter how bad it might feel to actually burn. When your wings burn and face burns and the eyes of yours are soulless and emptied. And it again takes me a while to realize… Not all stars must be beautiful.
Or, eh. Not all stars must be burning?
I catch their glimpses every now and then, really. At first, I think that some of the glimpses I get are the sun or, I guess, the moon. Just as cold and sullen. Humans have a different name for those. Sadness. Guilt. All the stupid stuff you’re not supposed to be feeling, really. But then I turn to your eyes, after every fight, after every smile, after seeing how your hands are trembling in the cold, covered in ugly burns from prayers. And I see stars exploding and arising in your eyes. With each time there’s more and more. And, shameful as it is, I’m not the primary source of it. Which is probably for the better.
At some point, your eyes become like a night sky. But even better. In no night can you see as many stars as you have in your eyes, angel. Angel? Right, yeah. We, angels, are cold, of course, cold as ice. But I always fancied that a perfect one of us would be warm, perhaps, hot, hotter than the scorching sun of deserts. And just as powerful as that. Don’t you see it? I sure do.
And that heat of theirs, of that perfect angel, better than us all, would be like a campfire to strangers in need. All the goodness burning inside them, sending waves into the air, caressing cheeks of the youth and carefully placing itself on the backs of those older. A beacon they would be, that angel, for all the lost, questioning souls.
Your eyes, the stars are burning, many of them. Even the cold ones, of which there are more and more every year…
And when your eyes’ galaxy had become a whole universe…
Perhaps, it was a bit too big to fit into those eyes of yours. The two little voids of your own, of mine.
I took your flaming sword, it was yours, wasn’t it? I got the docs, got the records. Was a pain in the ass to get some of them, must I tell you, just to find you in there. You never struck me as a warrior type, honestly. I’m also not too keen on killing things but, hey, sometimes a sacrifice needs to be made for others to survive? Not like with Jesus, ‘course. Like… When some of the stars must… die, well, die is not a proper word, just be… returned to their initial form, to dust. To molecules and atoms. I did that a few times. Helped some of them stop their existence, sorta like vets help dogs and cats “not suffer anymore”. Y’know, balance. Like the balance your lot sorta butchered when you kicked off all the time and the Armageddon.
And I wish I were there to demolish some of your stars. Those who pained themselves and pained you. Quite a few of them, were there? I think I attempted counting once… But, the more you live with humans, the more human we become – counting stars as a way of distraction, never finishing the count as it is impossible to bring it to an end. Sometimes that’s what allures them in stars and, sometimes, that’s what they resent, especially those, who want to have everything under control. Useless, they say. They’re not wrong. But trying never hurts, does it?
I wish I were there, when that universe inside your eyes, inside you, exploded with energy too powerful to be helped.
I didn’t see how that happened. I just saw the last warning. When your eyes, black as a void they once were, started burning. Oh, and I was stupid enough to leave you on your own. Go off, seeking shelter from the end of the world of all things.
And then you were gone. Extinguished. Like the fire in the bookshop. But before the last flames died, the wood and the paper were to die first. And I suddenly found out that my flesh can also burn.
But, Azazel, Aziraphale, wherever you are, remember.
I am a starmaker. And I will always find the stars or the void. Just you wait.