Chapter Text
Today, just like yesterday, yesterday’s yesterday, and all the days before that, the cliffs were a sight to behold.
It was a game, push and pull, the staying and going, really-- the roar of the waves as they crashed furiously on the bottom of the cliffs. Foam churned on the surface of the ocean as the sea fought the shore, reduced into a state of ebbing and flowing, waves no more.
Sitting cross-legged on the grass, Joseph observed while the wind picked up, whistling louder. Everything living here was unkept and overgrown, including the purple ends of the moor grasses that whipped against his face with every gust of wind.
Joseph watched the waves give another defiant roar before breaking over greying cliffs. A long time ago, he had thought it beautiful. And that was the reason Joseph had moved, one and a half years ago, out of town and into the solitude of the moors.
The camera-- his camera, Joseph reminded himself-- was lying on the bed of grass next to him. The skies were cloudy, greying blues blanketing high above him. Still, the unmistakable silver of the camera glowed softly as Joseph picked it up.
His fingers ghosted over the buttons and the curve of the lens, every action all too familiar.
Every sensation-- his fingers brushing over the screen, the cool leather of the camera strap as it fluttered against his forearm, every ridge and bump-- was accompanied by a sickening feeling.
Something dark swirled within him. Disgust, vehement felt so strong and sharp, almost like it was a burning nail, stabbed at his chest. Joseph wasn’t sure who it was directed towards. The camera or himself?
Then there was the voice inside his head that wouldn’t-- couldn’t -- be silenced. It would whisper to him at the most desolate of nights and the sleepless of dawns as he would stare at the past photos he had taken-- photos that had won him numerous awards and had once filled him with pride. That there was always something wrong with them. Every photo had something absent.
Just remembering them sickened Joseph.
Owning a camera didn’t feel right anymore, as if it was a parasite that had leeched onto him, leaving him nothing but a conflicted mind and the mess of his own emotions.
Joseph shuddered. He wanted to fling it as far as he possibly could, far away from him. But what good would it do even if the camera shattered from the surface of the cliffs?
He had a therapist some time ago, while he was still living in town. It hadn’t been Joseph’s idea, but a few of his friends had eventually, after weeks and weeks of coaxing, persuaded him to seek therapy.
Ada Mesmer was a talented psychologist, no doubt, as Joseph had heard praises from her past patients and the swift, skillful confidence she carried out her diagnoses.
But even she couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why Joseph felt this way.
It wasn’t a burn-out, Joseph had insisted, but yes it was, Ada Mesmer had insisted back. As long as he took a break, everything would be fine in a few months.
Consulting Ada had left Joseph feeling more maddening than being left on his own.
“Why don’t you try elsewhere for a change of scenery?” She had told him one evening, after another uneventful session. Ada was sitting in her usual spot on her armchair, just as Joseph was about to leave her office.
Joseph had opened his mouth, about to object when she continued talking.
“I understand, Mr. Desaulniers, that you do not see eye to eye with my diagnosis, but don’t you think a change of pace might be beneficial for you too? From my understanding,” Ada carried on, turning over pages on her clipboard, “certain… past events may have triggered your recent stress, yes?”
Joseph had bristled, inhaling sharply.
“Take this as a chance to explore. Your photography does not extend to landscapes, does it not? Perhaps photographing subject matters that are different to your past works may pique your interest again.”
But nothing had changed. Even now, imagining raising his camera to the sea in front of him made him feel nauseous. Joseph groaned. Rubbing his eyes, he let himself fall onto the ground, arms widespread. Absentmindedly, he started to tug at the nearby grass.
His senses felt dull. There was no longer anything that sparked his interest.
Everything was pointless.
Enough was enough, wasn’t it? He had spent too much time chasing after the feathers of birds whose songs he had already forgotten. His life had faded away, and he was just as bland as the scene reflected in front of his eyes: a monochromatic shell of the ocean.
Ada Mesmer had been wrong.
There was no need to prolong his suffering anymore.
And so, silently, Joseph made up his mind over a decision that he had been mulling over the past few months.
There was going to be no more taking photos.
The weather was turning colder this time of the year, Joseph thought to himself, numbly gazing up at the clouds.
He’d best prepare for winter before it got too late.
The sky was grey too, like the calm before the storm, just as Joseph stepped down from the bus.
He rarely ventured out of his house, much less to the town, but today was an exception. Joseph adjusted his grip on his camera, feeling its weight shift against his body. It was going to be the last time he would be able to hold it, Joseph thought quietly to himself. But he didn’t feel any regret.
Selling it would be the best decision, after all.
The town was decently small, with only a couple of bus stands littered throughout its neighborhood and the town square. Unfortunately for Joseph, the nearest pawnshop was at least half an hour’s walk from where he was.
Part of him couldn’t help but wonder how high of a price his camera would set for.
What price would it fetch? How much was his art worth?
It was an old vintage camera that had been bought secondhand, but despite its age, Joseph had tried over the years to maintain it well.
Around him, people jostled as they boarded and stepped down from the bus. Trying to leave the bus stand before it became too crowded, Joseph hurriedly squeezed his way away from the surge of people.
A sharp pain registered on his elbow, and the woman in front of him visibly winced.
“Oh--”
“My apologies,” Joseph muttered, making his way around the woman. “I’m in a bit of a rush--”
“Joseph?”
He paused in his tracks to look up. A set of dark eyes stare back at him astonishedly. It was a face he knew, and for a few seconds Joseph hesitated, wracking his brain for a name.
“...Michiko?”
Michiko’s face broke into a smile. “Joseph! It’s been ages! How has everything been going?”
“Fine, thank you,” Joseph answered curtly. Just his luck. Bumping into someone who knew him was the thing he was trying to avoid the most. He just hoped that the dark circles underneath his eyes didn’t look too obvious.
“How are the moors?”
“Lovely as always.”
He watched her eyes travel down to the camera. A flicker of irritation flared up in Joseph’s chest as he waited for the inevitable question. And predictably, the next words from Michiko came.
“Have you been taking photos lately?”
Dread bubbled up in his stomach before Joseph could stamp it out. “No.” Joseph said coldly. He crossed his arms and didn’t elaborate.
Michiko pursed her lips. “Oh.”
It was clear that it wasn’t the answer that Michiko had expected. She looked awkward now, in that ridiculously oversized grey scarf of hers. Her hands fidgeted, and Michiko broke eye contact to stare at the bus stand next to him instead.
Satisfied that he had put an end to this meaningless conversation, Joseph forced the corners of his lips to lift. “It was nice catching up, but I’m afraid I’m rushing for my appointment.”
It was a lie of course, but she didn’t know that.
Her eyes snapped back to his face. “Already?” She huffed, and Joseph was dimly reminded of the reason why she was still one of the few individuals he kept in contact with-- Michiko didn’t like to take no for an answer. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and you’re already off scurrying somewhere else.”
Joseph smiled politely, shifting his feet, already eager to be on his way. “Yes, it’s quite a shame, isn’t it?”
“What’s your appointment for?”
She was onto him. Joseph said the first thing that came up in his mind. “Doctor’s.”
“Mary would’ve mentioned it if you were coming.” Michiko narrowed her eyes.
Damn it.
Vaguely, Joseph remembered Mary telling him about a new position she got as a medic quite some time ago. “She’s not the only doctor in town.”
“She’s the best, and you don’t settle for anything less than that.” Michiko countered.
Caught with no way else to go, Joseph exhaled softly, raising his eyes to the sky. He had planned to just spend an hour or so having the camera appraised and sold off. Joseph, resigned, knew that he’d have to stay until at least late afternoon now.
Michiko laughed, batting his forearm like he hadn’t been trying to avoid her. “Oh, come on. When’s the last time you even conversed with anyone else?”
Too long, Joseph thought bitterly. And he’d rather keep it that way. But Joseph joined in her laughter. “Not long enough for me to have lost my social skills,” he remarked charmingly.
That was the right thing to say, because Michiko’s eyes twinkled and she clapped her hands in delight. “Lovely. In fact, speaking of which, I bumped into you on my way to Mary’s. Would you like to join us?”
As if Joseph had a choice now. But maybe Mary would be more sympathetic towards him.
“It would be my delight to.”
“Come walk with me.” Michiko offered, looking significantly more cheerful. “It’s just a few minutes away from the bus stand.” She extended out her hand to him, and her sharp nails glinted red.
Trying to match her smile, Joseph took her hand.
Thankfully, Michiko didn’t talk much on their walk, only making small chit-chat on the way there. Joseph obliged her, although most of the conversation consisted of Michiko trying to get him to open up about himself. He dodged most of her questions, turning it back on her instead. But Michiko seemed to take it more of a challenge than anything else, persistently inquiring deeper.
“We’re here,” Michiko announced suddenly, stopping.
Joseph surveyed his surroundings.
There wasn’t anything notable nearby. They had walked past the town square and were in one of the neighborhoods in town, with a couple of identical rows of houses further away in their surroundings.
The only thing that stood in front of them was a large white building, symmetrical on both sides with large square windows. The gates had been pulled open, and two shabby pillars supported mahogany doors. A large cross was hung atop the walls of the building, facing Joseph and Michiko.
A church. And today, Joseph realized, with a sinking feeling in his chest, was Sunday.
He glanced sideways at Michiko.
“Weren’t we just meeting Mary?” Joseph asked her warily. “Why are we…” He gestured at the gates. “Here?”
Michiko hummed. “Well… Mary and a few others.”
“ A few others? ” Joseph hissed. “Michiko, this is a church.”
“Oh, please.” Michiko breezily dismissed him with a flick of her wrist, already stepping closer towards the entrance. “You needn’t need to be such a… recluse.”
Joseph glared at her. “A recluse ? And when have you started attending church?”
Michiko shrugged. “You never asked.”
Joseph gritted his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling pressure built up behind his skull. For a split second, he considered dashing away.
“You wouldn’t leave now, wouldn’t you?” Michiko asked as if she could read his mind, her voice venomously sweet. “Don’t worry!” She added. “The community is accepting of everyone, so I’m sure you’ll be warmly welcomed.”
But that was the least of Joseph’s concerns.
Religion was a topic Joseph strictly veered away from. He had grown up in an extremely conservative household, where he and his younger brother were strictly taught since youth. Curfews were implemented and anything that had been deemed unnecessary was thrown out.
The only form of escape they had was their camera, where they would spend Saturday afternoons and Sunday evenings taking photos of anything that caught their eye. Then at midnight, when they were sure that both of their parents were asleep, Joseph and Claude would hide underneath their blankets, giggling to themselves as they looked through the photos of the day together.
But that had been a long time ago.
And… well, Claude wasn’t with him anymore.
Joseph’s expression darkened momentarily.
He looked back at Michiko, who he realized was surveying him with sympathy written on her face. “The pastor is very wise,” she murmured, her forehead creasing. “He might be able to guide you.”
Oh.
Pity. Something he hadn’t received in what felt like a long time.
It took a while for Joseph to remember how to react. But then the familiar stirrings of rage, cold and wrathful, tugged at his heart. Joseph welcomed the anger like he would an old friend, his expression quickly stiffening.
Did she take him for a helpless loner, depressed and moping his life away far from everyone else?
The corners of his eyes tightened, and Joseph glared back into the blacks of her pupils. He put as much frigidity into his voice as he could before speaking. “How charitable of you, then.”
He hadn’t intended to stay for very long, but Michiko’s comment had lit a fire within him. And just to prove his point, Joseph stormed through the gate.
Michiko had the audacity to sigh.
The pastor seemed to be finishing his sermon as they went in.
A few curious individuals glanced back at Joseph and Michiko as they entered the room, but their attention was quickly pulled back to the pastor who was still in the midst of his speech in the front.
Joseph sat himself at the nearest pew, with Michiko following behind.
On the bible stand behind the pastor perched a large owl, round and feathery. Its wings were a shade of reddish brown, with darker shades of tawny and white zig-zag patterns through its breast. It seemed to be napping, its head twisted to one side, undisturbed by the man’s speaking.
“The devil has many faces, and not all are human. So how may we recognize evil?”
The pastor gave a small pause, tilting his head as though he was listening to a voice only he could hear. He let out a mysterious smile, nodding before he continued.
“The answer to that question is not as obvious as one might hope. Of course, there are actions that we easily condemn, objects and concepts that are easily visible to the eyes. Take wealth, for instance. It is not inherently evil, but an excess might tempt us to sin. Greed or sloth is too easily bred from money. Or perhaps take power and authority. It is difficult to find sinless kings from the ancient times.”
The man had a calm voice, the kind that made even the rowdiest children sit at his feet, wide-eyed and hanging onto his speech. His every word was enunciated, and his voice rang out through the room.
“But for some of you, the devil will come in the form of salvation. For that, I urge you all to steel your hearts and minds. Be warned-- this is something you must prepare yourselves for.”
Joseph was already regretting his decision to stay. Sin and promise, prayer and mercy were all part of a past life.
“Only true evil can depict itself as the purest good.”
The hall was silent as the faint echo of the pastor’s voice rang throughout.
“Most of you already have your ideas of what evil is. But today I tell you to rid of your current beliefs. True evil is not ugly nor is it horrendous to visualize-- at its root, evil is temptation, and to do evil is to fall into temptation. What does that mean?”
The pastor spoke plainly. “Pure terror looks like beauty.”
At that, Joseph snorted. Ridiculous.
Next to him, Michiko glared at him, making a shushing gesture. Joseph shrugged, leaning back onto the bench. He adjusted the camera to his side before folding his arms.
“It can be a struggle to differentiate evil and good since the line between them is often murky.” The pastor moved towards his stand, and closed the cover of the large bible resting atop with a gentle thud. At that, the owl opened an eye. “Not all that is beautiful is sinful, and not all that is sinful is beautiful.”
He seemed content. “Our discussion will end here now. Thank you for taking the time to listen to my words.” The pastor gave a small bow.
He was met with applause.
Light chattering gradually increased. In front of them, rows of people on pews stood up one by one, all heading towards the doorway, some talking to each other.
“Shame. We missed most of it. But that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Michiko beamed at Joseph. She stood up, dusting her skirt. “Let’s go.”
Joseph glowered at her from his spot on the pew. “Go where?” He asked suspiciously.
As if she could read his thoughts, she huffed in amusement, knitting her eyebrows. “It’s almost lunchtime. There’s always food served after the sermon, so let’s go find Mary while doing that. I can even introduce you to some of my other friends!”
Joseph refused to spend any more time than necessary in the church. “Just Mary is fine. I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on. Enough, anyway.”
Thankfully, Michiko didn’t press this time. “Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging. “Come on, I’ll show you the dining--”
Her words were interrupted by an elderly woman who was passing by. “Excuse me, dear.” The woman hobbled up to them, staring hard at Joseph. “You look familiar. I could be wrong, knowing these old eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be.”
She let out a croaky laugh, and next to Joseph, Michiko mirrored her smile politely at her. The old woman squinted harder at Joseph’s face. “But you-- dear, aren’t you the boy that used to take photos with your brother?”
Joseph’s face fell slack.
From his peripheral vision, he could see Michiko’s expression freeze, then changing to uncertainty as she glanced back nervously at him.
The old woman made a sound of acknowledgment, raising a wrinkled arm to point at the camera, which was dangling from Joseph’s neck. “Yes, so it was you! I recognize that camera. You and your-- twin, was it? I remember watching you carrying that camera everywhere you went, taking his photos.”
“I don’t take pictures anymore.” Joseph rasped. The words slip out before he can stop them like a confession.
Michiko looked visibly uncomfortable.
The old woman scrunched her face. Adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses, she peered at him. “And why not?”
Michiko finally stepped in. She nervously laughed, clasping both hands together. “Mrs. Miller, I don’t think Joseph wishes to talk about--”
But she was too late. Once the words had fell from his lips, it was impossible for Joseph to stop them. “What’s the point, really?”
“Point?” The old woman looked confused for a second, before her face broke into a wrinkled smile. She snorted. “Why would you need a purpose to photograph? My goodness. It’s simple-- anyone could do it. Even I could. Just a click of a button.” Raising both hands, she mimicked shooting a camera, her index finger twitching.
Joseph blinked. He slowly nodded, his lips ghosting upwards. But his gaze was fixated on the statue of the virgin Mary at the front of the chapel behind the woman.
“Why, back in my day, art took talent.” The woman sighed, placing her hands behind her back. “My husband was a marvelous painter. Hours and hours of work spent drawing every pore of a person’s face or the dedication to observe his subject… Now that takes purpose.”
A long time ago, he might’ve been offended by her remark. But who was he to talk about his passions and personal ethics anymore? “You may be right,” Joseph murmured instead.
Parts of the statue glowed soft bronze in some of the light that had streamed through the windows. The statue had her eyes shut with her arms outstretched, and the artist had evidently spent a painstaking deal of effort carving her. Even from afar, Joseph could study her somber expression, and shadows drew out the prominence of each fold in her robe.
The world, Joseph knew, was black and white.
Light and dark, life and death, right and wrong. Truth and untruth, beauty and repulsiveness. Desire and obsession. They all danced together, toeing the shadow of uncertainty just like parallel lines-- never touching, but always co-existing.
There were boundaries to set. No pair should ever be mixed or lost without the other.
Joseph and Claude.
His blood brother, the other half of his soul.
So maybe that was why when Claude died, Joseph stopped feeling altogether.
The statue’s face looked serene, and her arms inviting. But for who was she beckoning towards?
Maybe there was some poetic justice that Joseph, in all his guilt and conflict, was here in the church.
At the base of the statue stood the pastor. He was attending to a few people, and a small line had formed in front of him. The owl from the stand was standing on his shoulder, but as soon as Joseph had glanced towards the pastor’s way, it gave a loud screech, startling some people in the line who took a few quick steps back, before beating its wings to fly towards the beams in the ceiling.
Turning his attention back to the pastor, Joseph realized, with a jolt, that he seemed to be looking right back at Joseph. With a tilt of his head, the pastor beckoned to Joseph.
Joseph turned his head away.
“Miss Miller!” A new voice exclaimed. “What are you doing so far away from Mrs. Harris and Mr. Ashford?”
Michiko gasped in obvious relief. “Mary!”
Dressed in a dark crimson long dress, Mary appeared out of seemingly nowhere, carrying two plates piled with food in her hands. She looked the same as before, with her signature bright red lipstick and her blonde hair tied and curled in the same bun she always wore. Mary gave Michiko a grin, before turning her attention back to Mrs. Miller.
“Why don’t you go ahead and join them? I heard that Brother Andrew made a most delectable chocolate ganache cake for today.” Mary dropped her voice into a cheeky whisper. “I think it’s best to try it now before the children get tired of playing and head for the dessert table. I know how much you love your sugary treats, after all.”
“Oh, you!” Mrs. Miller cackled, smacking Mary playfully.
Mary laughed.
“Trying to keep an old lady away from your conversations, aren’t you?” Mrs. Miller asked sternly.
“Of course not!” Mary batted her eyelashes.
The elderly woman snorted again. “Pah. As if.” Still, Mary’s words seemed to have done their trick, because she started to turn away. “All right, all right. You don’t have to tell me otherwise. Keep yourselves out of trouble, now.”
“We’re not children anymore!” Michiko exclaimed indignantly. But the old woman was already hobbling off, scoffing and shaking her head at Michiko’s words.
“Don’t bother. You know how she is.” Mary held up one of the plates she was holding out to Joseph, inclining her head towards him in casual greeting as if they had met just yesterday. “Joseph. It’s been some time.” She seemed unsurprised by his sudden appearance.
“So it has.” Some of the tension in Joseph’s shoulders dissipated. Mary was just as headstrong as Michiko, but she had excelled in social settings, able to converse with even the most banal individuals Joseph had known. She was someone he considered a close friend, and most importantly, she respected his space.
The hand holding the plate was still outstretched. “Fancy some biscuits or sandwiches?”
Joseph was in no mood to eat. He eyed the soggy sandwiches distastefully. “I’m afraid I have to decline.”
“Michiko, did you rope the poor man into joining our Sunday sermon?”
“Yes.” Joseph snapped, at the same time as Michiko exclaimed hotly, “Of course not!”
Mary looked between the two of them, fairly amused.
“What’s that look for?” Michiko complained. “I just told him it might’ve been a good idea to catch up again, the three of us!”
Mary said something in response to her, but Joseph tuned them out to glance back at the pastor.
The line of people in front of the pastor had disappeared. The front of the chapel was nearly empty now, with the last few individuals leaving, heading towards the doors. Only a few children were excitedly playing with each other in the front, laughing and running.
Nonetheless, the pastor was still in the same spot, standing unmoving at the base of the statue. He seemed to be watching Joseph.
Unease tugged at Joseph’s gut. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” Michiko looked displeased. “Why?”
But Joseph was done entertaining her whims. “I don’t have to explain myself.”
“Cold as always.” She placed a hand on her heart solemnly, not seeming to take offense. Joseph wished she had. “Why don’t you talk to the pastor before you go? Eli might be able to give you some advice.”
That was the last thing Joseph wanted to do. His initial irritation of Michiko was starting to bud into frustration.
“That’s a good idea.” Mary nodded, taking a sandwich from her plate. “Maybe you should meet Eli.”
Joseph tried to keep his tone light. Carefully, he chose his next words. “I’d… rather not.”
“Come on.” Michiko was getting persistent. “Just once. You’ll probably never set foot back in this church ever again anyway. What’s the harm?”
Mary took a nibble from her tuna sandwich. “Eli can be mysterious, but he has your best interests at heart, really.”
“His eyes unnerve me.” Joseph muttered.
“Oh, he’s blind.” Michiko quipped, as if they were talking about the weather. She picked out a biscuit from Mary’s plate. “Some accident a long time ago in his youth. I don’t know too much though, he never elaborated when I asked.” She popped the biscuit in her mouth.
But that wasn’t what Joseph meant. Eli’s eyes were pale, but there was still a certain intensity within them that was unnatural.
“Go on.” Mary nudged him. “Eli doesn’t have all day, you know.”
Joseph cursed. Damn them.
The pastor’s expression was blank, practically unreadable as Joseph made his way across the chapel. Only when Joseph was a few feet away did Eli finally acknowledge him.
“You’re troubled.”
It was a statement, not a question.
Reproach flashed through Joseph. “Is that what you think?”
Eli didn’t respond for a while.
Then, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably long, Eli spoke again. “Anyone can see that.”
The owl above let out a screech. It nipped at something trapped within its claws, its wings fluttering.
Joseph waited for more, but Eli seemed to have finished talking.
Well then. Joseph shifted his feet impatiently. The sooner he left, the better. “Goodbye then, pastor.”
Eli looked up at him, smiling. “May God be with you.”
Joseph gave him a strained smile. “Thank you,” he murmured. Joseph turned to leave, but the pastor’s voice stopped him.
“The Lord forgives all. It is never too late to repent.”
And maybe it was the gust of wind that coincidentally blew through the chapel, or the uncanniness of Eli’s words, but a chill ran through Joseph’s spine. He forced himself to steel his expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hm.” Eli was still smiling, but his pale blue eyes felt like they were piercing through Joseph. “Everyone sins.”
Under his gaze, Joseph felt uncomfortably vulnerable. He choked out a polite laugh and took a few steps back. “Pardon me, but I don’t think I’m feeling very well.”
“Of course.” Eli nodded. He turned his gaze at the group of children who were playing some game, who were squealing in delight whenever it was another child’s turn. “I will pray for you to find someone to unburden your heart of its sorrows.”
“Thank you,” Joseph repeated. Then, trying not to make it obvious that he was shaken, he spun around to leave the chapel as quickly as he could.
This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have came back to town.
Michiko hurried up to him, her expression bright. “What did Eli tell you--”
He pushed past her, ignoring her indignant yelp. Mary shook her head in disapproval, but she didn’t seem surprised.
“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime,” she called out to him instead as Joseph reached the end of the chapel.
Joseph shoved open the chapel doors, scowling.
He wasn’t in any mood to go to the pawnshop anymore.
Daylight was already dwindling when Joseph got back to the moors.
“S’ getting late.” The driver remarked. “You gonna be alright by yourself?”
Joseph frowned. He was still in a stormy mood from the afternoon. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
The driver shrugged, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Somethings ain’t right today. A few passengers here and there spooked by noises by the cliffs.”
“Noises?” Joseph echoed. “What sort of noises?”
The driver shrugged again. “Don’t know. You still sure you wanna be dropped off here?”
It was probably the overactive imaginations of many. No one usually came down by the moors, which had also been a reason Joseph had decided to move there, but when they did, they tended to exaggerate their tales. To entertain themselves to escape their boorish lives even if just for a few minutes, Joseph was sure of. “I’ll be fine.”
“Suit yourself.” The response was curt. The driver nodded at him one last time.
The doors hissed shut, and with a rumble, the bus pulled away.
Joseph’s house was a good walk away from the bus stop, but he never minded it.
There were some days when the hills seemed to stretch on endlessly, days when direction was irrelevant when north was south and east was west. But after living on the moors for a long time, Joseph had learned to trust his instincts. His mind would sometimes forget, but his body remembered the directions back to his house.
It was particularly windy, with Joseph keeping a hand over the camera. Branches and small blades of grass scratched his ankles as he walked.
The walk back through the moors was on some days, dull, but it was the reason why he was able to spot the contrasting movement in the distance today. Joseph slowed down.
He noticed the wings first.
White spans billowing in the wind like two linen sheets, every movement was accompanied with tufts of white as feathers drifted off them into the wind.
Bowed and bent at an unnatural angle, they covered a figure who was lying in a crumpled heap underneath them. From where Joseph was, he could see the figure struggling to get up.
Dirt, mixed with blood, dirtied his otherwise pure white robes. He seemed to be gravely injured, with a pale hand clutching at his sides. He was shivering badly, with the garment on his sides dyed with crimson, a stark contrast to the background. As Joseph observed, more feathers, like dandelions in the wind, dispersed from his wings into the air. Some of the feathers were mixed into the mud, intermingled between the boy’s fingers as he gripped the dirt beneath him.
Silver strands of hair framed the boy’s face, but most of it had been tied back loosely. His skin was just as pale as porcelain, and his lips were a deep shade of rose. His entire appearance was delicate, just like shattered glass, and just as iridescent.
But what struck Joseph the most about him was his fragility. The boy looked like even a small gust of wind could have toppled him at any moment. Taking another cautious step forward allowed him a better view of the boy’s face.
Joseph froze, dead in his tracks. His breath hitched in his throat.
The boy was gorgeous.
His silver eyelashes, the same shade as his hair, fluttered against his cheeks. His eyes were dazed. They were grey-- but not grey like the reflection of clouds on a wet day, but grey like the shine of comets and stars in the heavenly planes.
With his high cheekbones and arched nose bridge, even the strong grimace of pain that twisted his expression looked perfect.
Even without the wings attached to the boy, instinctively, Joseph would have known.
An angel.
Joseph’s throat constricted, and he swallowed shakily. He withdrew himself, making his footsteps as inaudible as possible.
Ethereal. Beautiful. Celestial, otherworldly, dazzling. The angel was just as alluring as he was enchanting -- but oh, most importantly, the angel was beautiful.
To be beautiful is to be feared.
Joseph had never understood the quote as much as he did in this moment. Even observing the angel left him vulnerable, and gazing at the angel felt forbidden. Yet it was as if he was spellbound, unable to take his eyes off the angel anyway.
The fragility of the moment felt almost tangible. One wrong movement, even a breath inhaled too sharply, and Joseph would ruin it.
There was no time to question anything else: where the angel had came from, what he was doing here, or what his purpose was. There was only the moment they were in now, the present, where they existed in their own world, far away from reality.
So Joseph observed.
Memorized the thin golden lines on the angel’s garments, the etchings on every single one of his feathers, memorized the way shadow blended with light on his face, the soft radiance of his skin. Joseph remembered as much as he could.
But when he closed his eyes, the image slipped away just as fast as he had burnt them into the back of his eyelids.
Despair, so thick and deep that it overwhelmed his senses, tightened his chest.
Not again.
Joseph’s breaths were quickening, and his arms trembled. He knew, no, he could feel it-- the moment was slipping away, this carefully encased ornament of time was opening up to reality again with its seams already fraying.
Memories of the past few years crashed, like the breaking of waves on cliffs, into his mind. Snippets of dull and dreary days flashed by. Monochromatic blues and greys in a land where nothing mattered, when every coherent thought Joseph had was deafened out by the roar of the sea.
Like the last few glimmers of light slipping past the cracks of a shut door, the thought surfaced, desperate and frantic.
He had been living in hell.
What he did next would be a moment he would come to reflect upon for many days after. He would remember the moment with absolute precision, sometimes guilt, sometimes pride, but deep down Joseph would have known that he wouldn’t have been able to help it anyway.
Because…
Because it was instinct.
Because the angel lying in front of him was beautiful.
And beautiful things deserved to be captured forever, didn’t they?
Joseph raised the camera to his face.