Lucifer hadn't shut himself down, his presence was still open when Balthazar reached out. Beautiful piano music, in multiple threads were running through Lucifer's essence, felt as much as heard. One stood out, louder and more vivid than the others. The notes were clear, the Moonlight Sonata. He was mourning Beethoven.
The fallen angel had loved Beethoven but not as a partner or even a friend. He looked at the composer like part of himself had somehow been fashioned into a human, a soulmate. Devotion twisted in the thread of music unlike any other Lucifer felt, it was unending. Raw pain still, might always, exist around this one human death.
The essence that leaned into Balthazar was sorrowful and full of joy, but seeking comfort for a wound that nothing could heal.
Lucifer followed into the room looking at the paintings, and provided they were not wet, touched them.
"I was told once 'An artist is someone who has learnt to trust themselves. The eyes of an artist see what God has written into the world, can interpret it so that other men can know God through the artist's work.'" His mind was still on the composer, those words were his, and though Lucifer had no love for God any longer he could still embrace the sentiment.
Lucifer joined Balthazar to look at his vessel's art. "Did he know of angels before you met him or are these impressions of you?"
He loved art, visual arts were not his usual interest, poetry and music were, but he can appreciate the visual. He notices the curtain and can't refrain from asking. "Why do you hide them here when they could be seen?"
It was a curious question. He didn't understand the dynamics between an angel and its vessel, but as far as Lucifer could imagine he would want to see them if they were from a mortal who let him live on Earth.
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branchandroot
Sometimes it is necessary
Date: 2019-09-07 05:09 pm (UTC)The fallen angel had loved Beethoven but not as a partner or even a friend. He looked at the composer like part of himself had somehow been fashioned into a human, a soulmate. Devotion twisted in the thread of music unlike any other Lucifer felt, it was unending. Raw pain still, might always, exist around this one human death.
The essence that leaned into Balthazar was sorrowful and full of joy, but seeking comfort for a wound that nothing could heal.
Lucifer followed into the room looking at the paintings, and provided they were not wet, touched them.
"I was told once 'An artist is someone who has learnt to trust themselves. The eyes of an artist see what God has written into the world, can interpret it so that other men can know God through the artist's work.'" His mind was still on the composer, those words were his, and though Lucifer had no love for God any longer he could still embrace the sentiment.
Lucifer joined Balthazar to look at his vessel's art. "Did he know of angels before you met him or are these impressions of you?"
He loved art, visual arts were not his usual interest, poetry and music were, but he can appreciate the visual. He notices the curtain and can't refrain from asking. "Why do you hide them here when they could be seen?"
It was a curious question. He didn't understand the dynamics between an angel and its vessel, but as far as Lucifer could imagine he would want to see them if they were from a mortal who let him live on Earth.