Mada’s
Cursed 7:
Fallen
Angels
By: Stacy L.
CATEGORY: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, POV, Vingette
TABLE FIC PROMPT: #071. Broken
WARNINGS: Dark Themes
COMPLETED:
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is the seventh and final installment of the “Mada’s Cursed” series.
This story is a response to the stargatefic100 LiveJournal challenge community for my Daniel Jackson prompt table.
* * * *
Daniel’s POV
We all fall at some point in our lives whether it be because
we've lost someone, life has become too hectic to keep up with or we're
wallowing away in self-pity. We all fall at some point, but we find our way
again. Some how, in some way we find our way and return once again to what
dreamers dare to call "normalcy". It happens to the best of us and
the worst of us. Some spend years trying to regain that which they have lost.
Some take merely hours to pull themselves back from the brink, and then there
are those of us who remain forever trapped...those of us who become trapped and
give up the fight. We become fallen angels. We become lost and ruined. We
become conquered and beaten. We are destroyed, and we are labeled the sinful,
the wicked, the immoral...
Fallen angels are Mada's favorites. He rejoices when one of us falls and joins
his legions becoming monsters like him, having fallen off our pedestals and
having lost our wings. For those of us who fall there is no escape, for we
become one of a thousand nameless faces peering into darkness, our skin pale
and grotesque, clashing with the endless night...fallen angels every one.
Strange things happen when one slips, losing their grasp. Those of us who cling
desperately to retain what Mada spends countless hours, days, weeks, months,
years driving from us are never alone. At first it seems as if we are alone in
the world, one lost soul, a forgotten spirit slowly dying. Our brilliant light
waning, flickering as if upon a wick, dancing in shadows, forever glimmering,
forever sparkling, forever on the verge of winking out...one tiny little light
burning in a sea of desolation. But those of us who are actively slipping are
never truly alone for there are some who care. There are some who watch and
wait. There are some who only appear, only visit when our grips release. There
is someone, something there ready to catch us and as I find myself
surrendering, finally at the end of my endurance, ready to immerse myself in
eternal damnation, unable to hold on any longer, prepared to plummet into the
abyss I release my hold and allow hopelessness and despair to crash down upon
me...
As I rapidly descend towards iniquity I find myself opening my mouth not to
scream but to cry out, to cry out in desperation, begging for someone to save
me. As no one answers I lower my head beginning to accept that I am forever
lost. As the tears begin to tumble down across my cheeks I come to a jarring
halt fearing I have just hit bottom, but as I attempt to place my feet firmly
on the ground I quickly discover that I'm merely dangling, swaying, suspended
in mid-air halfway between brightness and darkness. As I look up I see a soft
pale face peering back at me. I blink back tears as the face continues to gaze
upon me and a soft musical voice quietly whispers, "I won't let you go, for it is not yet your time."
And as the words are spoken her features become clear, her body bathed in a
soft gentle light revealing a young woman with skin of snow white and wings all
unfurled. I close my eyes as fresh tears tumble forth suddenly aware that I've
not been forgotten after all. I feel her grip tight and firm as she holds me
and refuses to release me. I feel relieved and thankful hearing her words drift
towards me again, "It's not yet your
time..." and as I open my eyes again I gasp finding that I still lay
upon a bloody floor chained in place, alone in a dirty filthy cage my captor
calls a cell.
As I feel despair stalking me I want to scream, but something draws my gaze
upwards and as I focus I see her again kneeling beside me, smiling. She leans
down as if to kiss my cheek and I feel a strange tingling coolness as if her
soft lips have pressed against my skin, but she does not touch me, for to do so
would bring about my death. Instead she whispers softly in my ear, "Sleep, Daniel, sleep for it is not yet
your time."
As my eyes slide closed I manage to softly whisper, "Who are you?"
and as a calming sleep descends upon me I hear her answer coming back to me:
"Some call me Serqet, but to most I
am called..."
"The angel of death."
**
The End **
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