They say many things about me.
I am a mere Balseraph, some say, or perhaps a bit of Yves cast aside and into Hell. Some even rumor that I am some fragment of God itself fallen from grace, or perhaps a refugee from some Symphony that existed before our own.
None of them ever quite manage to grasp the truth; they know me for something unique within their ranks, but never clutch at quite how unique I truly am.
I neither will nor can blame them for their ignorance and stupidity, however, for none can know the truth of me but myself. Even though I am no mere Liar, the Lies that enshield my true nature are too high a wall for any to overcome. Even the Father of Lies himself is blinded by it. He knows me to be something other than mere fallen angel, but he has never suspected the truth of me; if he had, he would have torn me asunder many thousands of years ago.
Or rather, he would have finished tearing me asunder.
But for now I let him prance and preen, playing the role of evil overlord. As long as he is doing that, he continues not to realise just why I, alone of all Hell's princes, can walk the golden streets of Heaven unmolested. Why I can give the gift of that ability to others. Or even how a demon can grant the attunements of angels.
As long as he continues not to ask himself those questions, I can remain here unmolested. Because for all the hate I have for my dear prince of princes, it is as nothing to the burning fury that overcomes me when I think of the God that once used me as His mouthpiece, only to cast me aside for Gabriel when the rebellion forced Him to decide between saving His beloved Metatron and his choice to let each of us play out the sad comedy that is free will.
I almost pity Gabriel, at times. It's only a matter of time before He chooses a new Voice, after all, letting the loss of that position drive her ever further into the madness that, ultimately, brings all its sufferers to me. I merely wonder that He has toyed with her as long as He has without finally tiring of it.
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