Page 5 of Her Fallen Angel

"That the gods chose her?" I can't keep the edge from my voice. "That her devotion was so pure they blessed her by taking her away?"

"Evangeline's faith never wavered, even at the end." He touches my shoulder, leaving a smudge of dirt on my dress. "These dreams... maybe they're a sign. Maybe you're meant for something greater, like she was."

I shake my head, dark waves of hair falling forward. "I'm not her. I don't have her strength."

"You have your own strength, Aren." Gabriel's voice drops lower. "I see it every day in how you refuse to hide, how you keep our faith alive while others flee underground."

The morning sun catches his tied-back hair as he returns to his work, but his words settle heavy in my chest. Everyone knows the story - how Evangeline vanished during her prayers, taken by divine hands as a blessing to our people.

But the dreams don't feel like a blessing. They feel like a storm gathering on the horizon, ready to sweep away everything I know.

The evening shadowsstretch like grasping fingers across our makeshift pews - splintered benches and chairs salvaged from ruins. Candlelight dances across the faces of our smallcongregation, casting deep hollows beneath their eyes. My voice rises and falls in familiar cadence as I lead the evening prayers, but tonight something feels different. Wrong.

"Guide us through darkness," I intone, my hands raised toward the broken ceiling. "Shield us from those who would destroy-"

The words catch in my throat. A presence weighs on my shoulders, invisible yet undeniable. I force myself to continue, though my skin prickles with awareness.

"Those who would destroy your sacred places." My voice grows stronger, more urgent. The other worshippers shift, exchanging glances. They sense it too - this crackling tension in the air.

Movement flickers in my peripheral vision. I turn, but there's only empty space between the crumbling columns. Still, I can't shake the sensation of being watched. Studied. My dark hair falls forward as I bow my head, using the curtain of waves to scan the room without being obvious.

"Let your light pierce the shadows." The words tumble faster now, driven by something beyond my understanding. "Let your strength flow through those who keep faith."

Others murmur their own prayers with increasing fervor. The candles flutter though there's no breeze, their flames stretching tall before shrinking to mere pinpoints.

Again, that feeling of eyes upon me. My olive skin grows cold despite the summer evening's warmth. I grip the wooden altar until splinters dig into my palms, grounding myself in physical sensation.

"We stand before you," I continue, my voice carrying to every corner of the temple, "unwavering in our devotion-"

The silence between my words feels alive, pregnant with possibility. Or warning. Gabriel catches my eye from his positionnear the door, his hand resting on the knife at his belt. He feels it too.

I draw a steadying breath, refusing to let fear rule me. Whatever watches from the shadows, I will not cower. I am my grandmother's granddaughter, and faith requires courage above all else.

After the evening service, we all tend to our chores. I drag the worn cloth across the altar's surface, working stubborn wax from last night's vigil off the ancient wood.

Moonlight streams through the broken windows, casting long shadows that dance with the flame of my lantern. The temple feels different at night - older, wilder, as if the darkness awakens something in its bones.

Gabriel paces near the door, his footsteps echoing off stone walls. "You don't need to do this now, Aren. It can wait until morning."

"The altar deserves respect," I say, dipping the cloth in warm water. "Besides, the quiet helps me think."

He snorts, checking the lock for the third time. "And the night makes it easier for things to sneak up on you."

My hands pause mid-wipe. The air grows heavy, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. In the silver basin beside the altar, holy water ripples in concentric circles though nothing has touched its surface. My breath catches as that familiar presence returns - the one from my dreams, heavy and charged and impossible to ignore.

"Aren?" Gabriel's voice seems to come from far away. "You're white as a sheet."

I force my hands to move again, focusing on the simple motion of cloth against wood. "Just tired." The lie tastes bitter, but telling him about the presence will only fuel his protectiveness. He already loses enough sleep watching over me. He's like my brother, always fussing over me.

"You're a terrible liar." He moves closer, scanning the shadows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I straighten, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear. The presence intensifies, making my skin tingle. In the basin, the ripples grow stronger. "I just need to finish this."

Gabriel's hand settles on my shoulder. "You're trembling."

"I'm fine." I shrug off his touch, though guilt twists in my stomach at the hurt in his eyes. But I can't explain what I don't understand myself - this sensation of being watched by something vast and unknowable, something that makes the very air vibrate with power.

The holy water continues its strange dance, reflecting fractured moonlight across the walls. I press my palms flat against the altar, drawing strength from its solid presence while that otherworldly weight bears down, filling the temple with expectant silence.

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