Image copyright: LovingDracula (DeviantArt)
…………in continuation of The Price #3
She was so close to catch him off guard. He couldn’t let that happen. There was no other choice but to school his features into a stone cold mask.
“Yeah, something like that,” he said answering her question.
She cocked her head in curiosity. “I’ve read things like this before and from what I know, it never ends well.”
It didn’t, he wanted to say. But he just shrugged and said, “Its fiction. There’s no particular rule I have to follow.”
Her eyes narrowed and it was enough for him to know that his answer annoyed her. But she seemed to let it go and turned another page of the sketchbook. A small gasp escaped from her lips as she took in the next sketch. Confusion and worry marred her beautiful features. Those blue eyes met his again. It was the best sketch he had made till now. He could already hear the questions that were forming on her lips. But he didn’t let it affect him; didn’t break his cool demeanour. Too much was on stake.
“I don’t know if it will be right to say that it is remarkable,” she said. Shaking her head, she looked at the sketch again. “But it IS remarkable. Different. Distressing. But still remarkable.”
Her voice had changed. It was soft now. No trace of that tone laced with suspicion that she was using before.
“So what’s the story behind it all? After seeing this sketch, I am all perked up for the details,” she said excitedly. “Come on, tell me.”
He still didn’t say anything. What could he say anyway? Was he really going to give it to her? The story behind it?
She rolled her eyes and said, “Seriously? You owe me remember? You have to give me something. You told me you’re writing the book. So why is it hard for you to tell me the story?”
It was all his fault. He was in a big trouble and there was no other way out.
* * * * * *
She knew she must leave and stop wasting her time. Even if he was telling the truth about the book, he wasn’t going to tell her anything else. That unwavering icy expression had made that clear.
Then why was her heart not willing to let it go? Was it because of that sketch she saw just now? She couldn’t help but look at it again.
She could tell by the physique that it was the same guy from the previous sketch. In this sketch, his knees were bent upwards and he was sitting with his head between his arms that were enclosing his bent knees. A defeated stance. Two long scars were running down his bare back making a big upside down ‘V’. Blood was oozing out from the scars and lying on the ground near him was the ripped out pair of white feathered wings. Bloody and damaged.
A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the weather.
Anguish. Pain. She couldn’t think of any other words to describe what she just saw. She was going to speak again, but he cleared his throat. She looked at him again. The mask was still there but those dark eyes now appeared aloof. As if he was somewhere else entirely.
“Angels walked among humans,” he said meeting her gaze. “From the beginning of the time.”
So he WAS going to tell her the story behind all this.
She controlled her eagerness and tried to listen carefully.
“Humans could see them but could not tell if they were angels because angels used glamour to hide their wings from the human eye. They looked like humans, lived as humans and even ate as humans. They were sent to earth to complete the assignments provided to them by their masters. It was made clear to them that they had no other reason to roam here.” He reached out with his hand and took the sketchbook from her hands. Looking at it, he continued his story. “Angels were allowed to befriend humans as long as it served their purpose on earth but deep emotional attachment to humans was forbidden. And it was strictly punishable if any of the angels revealed their secrets to their human friends. But still, there were always those who failed to follow the rules, and suffered the consequences.”
He traced a finger on one of those keenly drawn scars and drew in a deep breath, as if he was feeling worn-out by remembering these details of the story. As if he wasn’t discussing a fictional creation of his mind but telling about a long lost memory. Perhaps that’s how most of the authors felt about their creations. “It’s a tragic story of one such ill-fated angel, who underestimated the gravity of his duty to his master,” he said but didn’t lift his eyes. “Underestimated the rules.”
“He dared to fall in love with a human girl and told her about his secret,” she said what she had already guessed.
TO BE CONTINUED
©sakshi~the escapist, 2017
Category: Story series