#the fall of the ohanims

[thefallofophanims]

PRESENCE

The Angel, Aliosha, now follows me everywhere. His presence, which used to trouble me, has slowly become my daily routine, and I catch glimpses of him through stained-glass windows or in the reflection of my rosary several times a day. I feel his eyes of light guiding my every step, and I reassure myself as best I can. Has God finally decided to send me a Guardian Angel?

I haven't spoken to Semyon about it yet. Perhaps I should have. Anouk doesn't know anything about it, either. But I must admit, in all sincerity, I like this secret. I wouldn't want anyone telling me how to react to this ethereal entity that seems to be watching over me.

His name sends shivers down my spine, bringing an emotion to my eyes that I can't even name. His presence is not limited to the day. As soon as I close my eyes, I'm back at the broken church, and there he is. He never leaves my side.

Sometimes, he speaks. He tells of Celestial stories, of the origin of the world and what feeds our souls; and I tell in return, of what I observe, of what I try to understand. Sometimes he's silent, and we walk, side by side, for hours on end. For what seems like eternity.

☆

"It's not just The Silk. There's got to be something behind these walls," I murmur. Aliosha inclines his head. Finding my words with him is easier. It always has been.

"I've been studying the Metamorphosis for years," I explain. "Its real name is The Oneiric Metamorphosis. I've gone through dozens of books in the Library,all this time. I've found archives, poems and other writings talking about it. The universe is surely much, much bigger than we think."

I pick up a flower. It's small, fragile, and yet so beautiful.

"Anouk is convinced of this, too. Running away has always been her dearest wish. To see what lies beyond. I'm working hard to find a way for her to realize it." I put the flower back where I picked it up. Aliosha's choral voice echoes in the hollow of my ear as he utters these words.

"There is much, much more than The Silk. There is far more than the world, and your souls. There is far more than anything you can imagine. Human life is merely one small experience among many, many others, in the immensity of Infinity."

"I know."

[thefallofophanims]

ANGEL

"Do you remember your name?" is my first question. I let the Angel get as close to me as possible. His movements are quick, blurred, as if in a dream. He's standing, facing me. Sitting with my hands on my thighs, I wait for him.

Taming him took time. I've felt him, and feared him for weeks. But I've finally gotten used to his rainy eyes and frothy hair. To his pale, thin body, so frail, yet so resilient. He looks like a human. He has the face, the limbs and the softness. He's wrapped in a single cloth, as white as snow. He has more than two wings. Their number changes, appearing and disappearing with his movements; he is only half discernible in this landscape of feathers and flowers as white as himself. His halo is silver, contrasting with the bright gold of mine.

My question awakens a gleam in his almond-shaped eyes. He takes a step forward, as silent as the flight of an owl. ".........sha".

His voice is very different from a human voice. It sounds like a choir singing, as if a dozen children were letting out their melody at the same time. A divine being is never alone. It carries in it's voice the History of many others. I hold his gaze as he takes another step forward. His bare feet cause tiny tremors on the ground. "...Aliosha."

His response is complete, this time. He's even closer, now. I could touch his neck just by reaching out. An invisible energy pins me in place. I can't move anymore. An indescribable link connects us. I know it, I feel it in the depths of my soul. I can't take my eyes off his ethereal figure.

"Why me, Aliosha?"

He does not answer. There was nothing that had to be answered.

[thefallofophanims]

NAMES

My name is Lysander. "Liberator", from the Ancient Greek 'Lysis' (Freedom) and 'Andros' (Man). That was one of the first things Semione said to me, after taking me into the Library for the first time, the day I became a scribe. One of the first things they taught me.

I like my name. I, find the concept of names, fascinating. We use words to identify ourselves, and we want to give them as much meaning as possible, to make them sound nicely, one way or another. Probably because, more than anything else, we too ,want, to make sense. A name says a lot about a person; It carries much more identity than one might think, both in sound and meaning. Not loving your name is a serious torment; loving it lifts you higher.

I think "liberating" is a beautiful word. As a child, looking out of the Monastery window, I imagined myself bringing freedom to Mankind. I've grown up now, but true to my childhood aspirations, I've never stopped looking out the window.

☆

I am a scribe- a monk. A priest, too. One day. That means I have the prettiest of handwritings and the most arduous of knowledge. There are, only two scribes here. Me and Semione, the one who taught me everything. Our role is crucial, sacred even, for the good of The Silk. The Silk possesses a vast amount of knowledge. It was all written down or recovered a long time ago, at the time of the Metamorphosis. The Metamorphosis is what brought us all together here, safe from chaos, under the benevolent gaze of angels and the divine; It's now up to us to protect this knowledge. I do it, every day. I copy and copy and copy. I go through every page of every book on every shelf of the Monastery's immense Library, trying to find traces, even the less relevant, of what has been before The Silk, and what has been since. In the nineteen years of my life, thirteen of which have been devoted to this arduous task, thirty-one books have been entirely transcribed by my own hand.

Sitting in the church pews every Sunday, I watch Semione lead the Mass, next to Confessor. Their voice is clear and enchanting. It sounds like the song of a bird. As soon as you listen to them, you immediately want to follow them. To believe everything they say. Semione could make anyone convinced that a bird is a flower, or that their life is worthless. Though, we are not in charge. We decide nothing. We only pass on what is ordered above us. We are nothing more than messengers, Confessor's messengers.

I sit and watch, their arms open and their halo in the shape of the sun. I know that one day, I'll be like them. One day, I'll, too, address the worshippers with an enchanting voice and a honeyed gaze.

[thefallofophanims]

ORPHANAGE

I never knew my parents. But I'm far from being a special case; there were dozens of us at the Orphanage. And yet, The Silk only comprises a few hundred humans at most. The reason is, we're the fruit of forbidden love.

Certain couples, those most devoted to the cult, are allowed to reproduce to keep their offspring as pure and devoted as themselves. Their union must be supervised, assisted, with prayers and sacraments. But, of course, desire can never be entirely controlled by any external force. Adolescent love, adult love and other far less pretty events. Children are inevitably born, against the rules. To remedy these blasphemous births, the children are placed in the Orphanage, and their parents are purified. I was no exception.

And I forgave, I knew it was necessary to have any hope of finding my way to the light. I endured and prayed, each day passing. As my faith grew stronger, the pain became less and less. The slaps became caresses, and I could see even through my cracked glasses. I prayed, and apologized strongly every night, when everyone was asleep.

It was all my fault. I should have stood up straighter, not spilled that glass, not comforted that crying child, not refused to talk, not made any strange movements. I had the intelligence to integrate the principles, rules and expected behavior very quickly. I never questioned anything out of my own mind. Things were as they should be.

And yet, in the evening, as the dream embraces me and the world ceases to exist, I find myself thinking, wondering, hoping, naively, that sincere love has brought me into the world.

[thefallofophanims]

HYDRANGEA AND JASMINE

By the time I blink, I'm back in my room. The sound of the ceremony slowly fades from my mind. The quiet of the Monastery is comforting, similar to the feel of a freshly washed cloth wrapped around my shoulders.

My fingertips caress the mouse nestled in the palm of my left hand. Its white and grey coat is always clean. It's so small, a mouse, and yet so intelligent. It can explore every nook and cranny. Surely it has seen more than I have, perhaps places I can't even imagine.

I jump when a hand knocks on my door. "Come in", I say mechanically. The door creaks open, and Anouk bursts into the room. A relieved sigh from me greets her arrival. "What? Don't tell me you got scared, glasses-head?" she says, barely mocking me.

"I wasn't scared of you. I was afraid of the noise, I wasn't expecting it." I reply as she approaches me. "Sorry." Her forehead sticks to mine, and her hands grasp my cheeks. We both close our eyes and stay like that, for a few seconds. It's our way of greeting each other.

Anouk steps back and sits down next to me. "Is there a reason for your visit?" I ask.

"Whiskers, of course. How could I forget her?" she replies, bending over the mouse in my hands, which raises its snout curiously.

"I see. You show more affection and care for a little mouse than you do for your best and most faithful friend-" "Shhh."

She giggles and pulls something out of her pocket. "I figured she'd enjoy my communion better than I do," she explains, proudly. I look at her, dumbfounded. "You didn't swallow your communion?"

"Of course I haven't. Don't look at me with those eyes Lysander, you know I never eat it."

"I suppose not."

There's an awkward silence between us as she hands her offering to Whiskers, who starts nibbling on it with interest. I feel a little guilty, pointing out our differences of Faith like this. Anouk would be in enough trouble if The Silk knew she didn't have any. She's the one who finally breaks that silence.

"I lied, I didn't come just for Whiskers. You arrived late earlier, which is very unusual, and I observed you. You were trembling, and you refused to watch The Angels."

"I never watch The Choir of Angels."

"You were particularly evasive today." Her face moves closer to mine, so that I can't escape her brown eyes. "I'm worried," she insists.

"There's nothing to worry about."

"Lying to me is pointless, Lys. I know you better than you know your Library."

"It's nothing important. I'll be better soon."

"Listen to me. You've got to face facts, and you've got to know-"

"I already know too much," I say abruptly, turning my body away so I don't have to hold her gaze any longer. Whiskers escapes me, and runs off to hide between two books in the corner of the room. Anouk sighs, then takes my hand. I don't stop her.

"Forgive me, Lys. I didn't come here to argue." I nod, gesturing to her that it's nothing. I can already feel the words escaping me. I'm no longer able to speak, to formulate sentences. I lie down on my bed and turn my back to her, letting her know I'm tired. She understands. She does not mind, she is used to it.

"The hydrangeas finished growing today. Their color is magnificent. Would you like to pick some with me? For your desk." I shake my head. Her fingers gently caress my hair. It feels nice.

"I understand. In that case, get some rest, okay? I'll bring you some when I finish working."

Oh, that's right. Anouk has to work, too. Comforted, I nod again and make a faint sound to express my gratitude. She gets up and walks away. "See you later, Lys," she murmurs as she closes the door.

Alone at last, I hold myself as I close my eyes.

☆

The next day, I'm at my desk, faithful to my task. The ink curves, dances, forms the letters and words along the pages. How lucky I am, to be a descendant of the illuminating monks.

I feel a presence behind me. Semione looks at my work. "Very refined," they comment. "You're gaining in precision. Your style reminds me of my own when I was your age."

"Thank you," I reply. I wonder if I should mention yesterday. I search for my words. "I'm sorry about yesterday,...arriving late at Mass. I wasn't myself," I finally articulate.

"I noticed. Confessor was furious and demanded you to be punished."

My whole body freezes, my breath stops. That single word echoes in my skull painfully. Punished. Punished. Punished. I am going to be punished. Confessor.

"I refused. I defended you and pointed out that you were a model pupil," continues Semione. "You are allowed to make a mistake now and then. We are still human beings. The Choir of Angels remain humans, too, After all. The Entirety of the Silk is. Besides, we were not celebrating anything special, other than Sunday."

"And his answer?"

"He said he'd think about it. I think I managed to convince him, though."

They think. I stand up, ready to leave the room, until my mentor's arms wrap around my shoulders. They embrace me. Their scent is that of jasmine; bringing back childhood memories to my mind. "Don't worry, Lysander. You are safe." I nod, and they separate from me. I can breathe again.

"..." "Anything else?" They ask. "I think I was visited by an Angel," I explain.

Semione frowns. "And did it say anything to you?"

"No." "Let me know if there's any change in the situation, okay? Maybe it was just a Celestial or another divine being coming to reassure you. You have been tormented lately, after all. If not, I'm more qualified to read omens than you are."

"Alright."

After that, they settled down beside me and we wrote and copied together, paying no attention to the sun's course.

[thefallofophanims]

MASS

Everything I've just said, this Angel already knows. He watches me every time I look away. At every page corner, at every turn of the corridor, I feel his calm eyes on me. I see his silken hair when I blink. I dissimulate, I pretend, I do my best to, maybe - it's too much to hope for - to make him think, that I don't see him. That I know nothing of his presence. But he knows. You can't hide anything from Angels. It's only a matter of time.

☆

I was late for Mass that day. All eyes on me, all whispers. My gaze inscrutable, I move discreetly and sit in the front row, where a seat is usually reserved for me. The morbid curiosity of an entire audience silently assails me. Late, Lysander? ,The perfect pupil of Semione themselves? ,He can't, he wouldn't dare. ,Late before God? ,In front of the Celestials who saved us from Metamorphosis? ,Shameful... Blasphemous.

I'm impassive, but my hands are trembling. Every nerve in my body is tense, my throat is tight. I'm frightened. And I wait, without making a move. I saw Semiones gaze slide over me, smooth and cold. I pray they won't be disappointed. The attention suddenly fades from me as the procession everyone's waiting for enters, allowing me to breathe more slowly. The Choir of Angels moves like a cloud of swallows; all their movements perfectly coordinated, their identical uniforms gleaming in the clear morning light. They form a perfect, unique painting. A respectful silence greets their arrival; all eyes are focused on them.

I alone pay them no attention. I observe the filtered light from the stained-glass windows, the tiled floor, my lace suit. I stopped looking at the Angels a long time ago.

That day, I clumsily held the censer, saved in extremis by my habit.

[thefallofophanims]

ACT ONE - THE PAPER WINGS ANGEL

PRAYER

I never doubted the meaning of my life. I knew, knew this was the only way out.

There was nothing to say, nothing to regret, nothing to think about either.

And yet, alone, sheltered from the gaze of Men and Gods, calm, embraced by silence, I prayed. I prayed, in hope, delusional hope, not to disappear.

☆

ALTAR

The story started when I began to see beyond, to perceive what lay beneath the dream. I awoke in a bed of lilies and feathers, as white and soft as cotton. Around me, what appeared to be the rubble of a church. Blinding light still filtered through the broken stained-glass windows above me. A pearly silence tinged the air. I stood up, slowly. I walked, exploring this strange place that was, for now, still unknown to me. My footsteps made no sound on that strange floor. I turned towards what had once been a prayer altar. And that is when I saw him, and understood. Sitting, motionless. His gaze thin and his hair in the wind. I said nothing. I simply stared. This was it.

[thefallofophanims]

At last, our souls freed from illusion, We saw the end of clouds and flowers at the same time as our own.

Our songs unveiled at last, We prayed the path of memories and saints.

Hope, illusion may be frail and disappointing; they remain one with the light of humankind.