Too many creations [Active]

[flowersinhell.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Duma, anyone
Content: An Angel appers, lost, confused and depressed.
Setting: Muspelheim Gate
Time: Midday, week 27
Warnings: None


Duma was lost. He had come through the gate that had been created in every plane by Lucifer, but he had not ended up where he expected to be. He had not ended up anywhere he recognised at all.
Duma had followed Lucifer through the gate... He had followed Lucifer. Duma let his head drop. He may have been millenia too late, but he was finally fallen. Although, maybe fallen wasn't the right word. Stepped back was a better word, stepped back and let Remiel do what he had wanted all along, to be ruler of Hell, to redeem lost souls though punishment and pain.
Duma had grown his flowers and not spoken to Remiel and sided with Lucifer and left.

Now he did not know where he was. He fancied that he might be in Lucifer's creation, in which case he had a feeling he would die rather quickly. But were that the case, where was the Lightbringer himself? The building in front of him reminded Duma of the tales he had heard of Faerie. And the Gates reminded him both of Hell, and of Heaven. The flames belonged to Hell, but the golden colour brought back images of the Silver City, of silence and contemplation, of kneeling with Raphael and learning about pain and healing and making things grow.
A sad smile flickered to Duma's face.

He decided to walk to the gate, almost ready to try the Hell-Key in the lock, before it became obvious to him it wouldn't fit.
A man behind the counter asked him his name, and merely sighed when Duma didn't answer. Instead he handed the angel a journal and waved him through. Duma took the strange device. 'Perhaps' the thought 'This is another kind of key.'

Comments

[nonomoribird.livejournal.com]

At the nod, Yorda felt better, much better. It had distressed her greatly when he had cried, and she did not want to leave him alone, especially with the obvious loneliness the angel seemed to carry about himself like a shroud. She gladly took his hand and nodded back, accepting the silent offer. Yorda knew nothing about growing plants, though she had delighted in the grass that grew on the island, and had loved the feeling of it beneath her, tickling her feet. Maybe Duma would allow her to learn from him, and help - she did so want to be useful, especially since everyone she had met had been so kind to her.