Midwinter's Eve
Jan. 20th, 2020 03:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_rebel_son[OOC: NOTES: Translation of the Greek in the Comments. Takes place the late evening into early morning after this celebration.]
Lucifer had left the celebration, disappearing with his closest angels. Though he had ensured Moloch was returned to Chaos before his departure, or rather seclusion. The Winter Spirit was on his mind. His demands bitter as any demand would be. Lucifer was willful, stubborn, and were it only his person in threat he would have scoffed at the spirit's pushing and force. However, his family, and the Nexus as a whole, were more important than his dislike of orders. Perhaps if his pride had been involved he wouldn't have flexed so easily. He had been honest with the spirit when he relented, backed down, and agreed to do as asked. Lucifer giving in was a rarity that meant more than many would see but he knew what it meant. Something else was more important than his pride.
He did not like the position he was in but better his sacrifice than the danger that might come otherwise. It wasn't so much a sacrifice as remembering himself and his duties. Even a creator with near infinite power had duties. His were laid out in so much lore; Persephone, Eos, Set, Osiris, Quetzacoatl, Gaia, Dionysus, the Three Hares, even Jesus to an extent. They were not life or death, but the quiet reminder in the dark that the light would return, that death was temporary, life would return. As a creator he couldn't imagine any other duty more sacred to his place in Winter. He was the whisper in the cold dark that the warmth and light were not forever lost.
It had taken hours to prepare. It wasn't just the sacred bath, the attire, and body paint that required time. True, this time aligned with what might be the only sanctifying process Lucifer could enact without it being lip service paid to a fickle spirit. His sense of justice would not allow Lucifer to do something he didn't believe. That was another thing he heard in the words of the Winter Spirit, do what it is you believe true. This was it, and while it was a significant upheavel... when was anything he ever did less than turning things on its head? After all, if he were to be true to the season, first he had to be true to himself. Honor of the self was needed to honor anything else in truth.
It was Sin who drew the oiled bath, scented with wisteria flowers and grape. She sat with Lucifer while he prepared and centered himself. It was a communion of silence and support in candle light that ended with her assistance to dry his wings and removing any tattered or loose feathers. He sat with his daughter while she prepared him but they didn't speak. Sin waited with him when Belial and Azazael came to the bath. Azazael with a pot of paint to add the red stain to his Lord. In ancient traditions it would have been images of vines and grapes but fire was more appropriate now. He was the morningstar and light more than the Earth and Ground. Belial gave the fire life, a crawling appearance to the red powder flames that covered his scars and the space around his eyes. Once more he was left with Sin to be dressed.
Wrapped in a flame red dress, trimmed in gold, and his crown upon his head, he went to the gardens to be in private. The angels closed the gardens off and where they could not close doors they stood guard. The shift would be painful, perhaps more so outside of his own creation. This was the truth of everything so long hidden. Agony came when it was forced to the surface.
The garden was his sanctuary, but even here he felt vulnerable. The angelic essence pressed against the illusions, shifting, rearranging. He sunk to the ground while her mind struggled to maintain the box that kept the fire locked away. The color came through as the wings shone bright as a flare. She wrapped herself in them as if they would keep the rest contained and the world away.
It left the angel breathless and prostrate on the ground among the flower beds, but the shift had completed. Where once Lucifer the rebel had been, now lay Lucifer the creator. In mythical terms the divine masculine had shifted to the divine feminine. Once they had been the same, unified, but the Fall fractured the seraphim into different parts contained within the whole. Lucifer didn't know if that unity would ever be mended or if once fractured it must always remain so.
This form had only been seen by one person, one mortal, in all of Lucifer's long existence. It had remained hidden away. Maybe it was waiting for now. Dizziness came in waves when she pushed to sit up. It was still Lucifer. The sunrise wings and endlessly deep blue eyes remained. Even stature and shape could be easily mistaken for the Lucifer that had entered this rite. The angles had become a softened boyish feminine, hair lengthened, but the mind remained the same. More time passed and she stood, more stable now, but yet to be ready for company. The red powder like flames remained at the wrist, ankles, and around the eyes though it shifted still as if it were real fire.
She made a round of the garden, visiting the plants and animals while her presence balanced and calmed. They didn't know how long this would remain, perhaps only a few days, maybe until Spring? Lucifer was prepared to allow their essence to take the lead and inform those decisions. She was not ready for this but it could not be turned back now. She was too tired from changing once to try and revert.
Yet there was still more to do. While she had bathed, a ring of stones had been set and stacked with wood ready for a fire. Lucifer retrieved one of her goats and manifesting her spear drove it through the animal's throat. She half spoke, half sung an Orphic hymn as she made the sacrifice, repeating as necessary.
Akoúste me, Theé mou! tou opoíou i anadyómeni aktína odigeí stin evreía axioprépeia tis iméras.
I kokkinistikí Eos, tis opoías to ouránio fos aktinovoleí ston kósmo me to kókkino spérnounrs foteinó:
Ángelos tou Titána, o opoíos me synechí strongyló, anatoliká aktínes sas anakaleí apó ti nýchta vathiá:
Ergasía káthe eídous pou odigeí eínai eséna, tis thnitís zoís o ypourgós theïkós.
I anthropótita mésa sou arései aiónia kai kanénas den ypotíthetai óti tha apofýgei to ypérocho sou théama.
Kathós ta spathiá sou spáne tis zónes anápafsis kai ta mátia anoígoun me katapliktikó ýpno katapiesméno.
Ánthropoi, erpetá, pouliá kai thiría, me genikí foní, kai óla ta éthni ton vathión, chaírontai.
Giatí óli i koultoúra tis zoís mas eínai dikó sou. Eláte, evlogiméni dýnami! kai se aftés tis táseis klísi:
To ágio fos sou afxánetai kai adiáforo diachéei ti lámpsi tou sto myaló tou mystikistí sou.
Egó, o gios sou, o Loúsifer stéketai brostá sou gia na anazoogonísei to maraméno ampéli. Me to aíma pou ríchno ypenthymízo sti Gaía óti sýntoma tha epistrépsei i zoferí zoí sti zoí.
Prosféro to aíma ton zóon kai to aíma tou eaftoú mou gia na gyríso ton kýklo stin proigoúmeni áfixí sas, agapití mitéra Éos.
Akoúste, akoúste kai parakolouthíste páno mas méchri na férete xaná foteiní avgí páno sta kataprásina pedía.
Blood poured out across her arms, onto the dress, leaving a red wash on the white paving walkway of the garden. The animal was dressed and spitted. The goat propped over the fire, entrails and forelimbs burning in the fire. A life given that would feed the house in the morning and be shared into the community beyond. A life given to remind of life to come.
Once the fire was stable and the animal cooking she wondered if she should call out to her soulmate. It would be the same voice as always, even the speaking voice would remain the same with verbal communication. Happiness pulled at her, but there was an unhurried need for quiet and isolation too. She shifted nervously, fearful that this form would not be appreciated or would drive him away. Why those thoughts came she did not know. They were ridiculous and mentally known false, but the fears of the heart were overriding the mind. Lucifer always feared loss of everyone important. Still she waited, eyes gliding between the entrances to the garden, wondering if he would come here looking or not. As she sat watching the fire, blood drying to skin, there was no way to tell which would be preferred. She felt torn inside the indecision as deep and clear as the rift between her genders. Nothing seemed whole or certain.
Lucifer had left the celebration, disappearing with his closest angels. Though he had ensured Moloch was returned to Chaos before his departure, or rather seclusion. The Winter Spirit was on his mind. His demands bitter as any demand would be. Lucifer was willful, stubborn, and were it only his person in threat he would have scoffed at the spirit's pushing and force. However, his family, and the Nexus as a whole, were more important than his dislike of orders. Perhaps if his pride had been involved he wouldn't have flexed so easily. He had been honest with the spirit when he relented, backed down, and agreed to do as asked. Lucifer giving in was a rarity that meant more than many would see but he knew what it meant. Something else was more important than his pride.
He did not like the position he was in but better his sacrifice than the danger that might come otherwise. It wasn't so much a sacrifice as remembering himself and his duties. Even a creator with near infinite power had duties. His were laid out in so much lore; Persephone, Eos, Set, Osiris, Quetzacoatl, Gaia, Dionysus, the Three Hares, even Jesus to an extent. They were not life or death, but the quiet reminder in the dark that the light would return, that death was temporary, life would return. As a creator he couldn't imagine any other duty more sacred to his place in Winter. He was the whisper in the cold dark that the warmth and light were not forever lost.
It had taken hours to prepare. It wasn't just the sacred bath, the attire, and body paint that required time. True, this time aligned with what might be the only sanctifying process Lucifer could enact without it being lip service paid to a fickle spirit. His sense of justice would not allow Lucifer to do something he didn't believe. That was another thing he heard in the words of the Winter Spirit, do what it is you believe true. This was it, and while it was a significant upheavel... when was anything he ever did less than turning things on its head? After all, if he were to be true to the season, first he had to be true to himself. Honor of the self was needed to honor anything else in truth.
It was Sin who drew the oiled bath, scented with wisteria flowers and grape. She sat with Lucifer while he prepared and centered himself. It was a communion of silence and support in candle light that ended with her assistance to dry his wings and removing any tattered or loose feathers. He sat with his daughter while she prepared him but they didn't speak. Sin waited with him when Belial and Azazael came to the bath. Azazael with a pot of paint to add the red stain to his Lord. In ancient traditions it would have been images of vines and grapes but fire was more appropriate now. He was the morningstar and light more than the Earth and Ground. Belial gave the fire life, a crawling appearance to the red powder flames that covered his scars and the space around his eyes. Once more he was left with Sin to be dressed.
Wrapped in a flame red dress, trimmed in gold, and his crown upon his head, he went to the gardens to be in private. The angels closed the gardens off and where they could not close doors they stood guard. The shift would be painful, perhaps more so outside of his own creation. This was the truth of everything so long hidden. Agony came when it was forced to the surface.
The garden was his sanctuary, but even here he felt vulnerable. The angelic essence pressed against the illusions, shifting, rearranging. He sunk to the ground while her mind struggled to maintain the box that kept the fire locked away. The color came through as the wings shone bright as a flare. She wrapped herself in them as if they would keep the rest contained and the world away.
It left the angel breathless and prostrate on the ground among the flower beds, but the shift had completed. Where once Lucifer the rebel had been, now lay Lucifer the creator. In mythical terms the divine masculine had shifted to the divine feminine. Once they had been the same, unified, but the Fall fractured the seraphim into different parts contained within the whole. Lucifer didn't know if that unity would ever be mended or if once fractured it must always remain so.
This form had only been seen by one person, one mortal, in all of Lucifer's long existence. It had remained hidden away. Maybe it was waiting for now. Dizziness came in waves when she pushed to sit up. It was still Lucifer. The sunrise wings and endlessly deep blue eyes remained. Even stature and shape could be easily mistaken for the Lucifer that had entered this rite. The angles had become a softened boyish feminine, hair lengthened, but the mind remained the same. More time passed and she stood, more stable now, but yet to be ready for company. The red powder like flames remained at the wrist, ankles, and around the eyes though it shifted still as if it were real fire.
She made a round of the garden, visiting the plants and animals while her presence balanced and calmed. They didn't know how long this would remain, perhaps only a few days, maybe until Spring? Lucifer was prepared to allow their essence to take the lead and inform those decisions. She was not ready for this but it could not be turned back now. She was too tired from changing once to try and revert.
Yet there was still more to do. While she had bathed, a ring of stones had been set and stacked with wood ready for a fire. Lucifer retrieved one of her goats and manifesting her spear drove it through the animal's throat. She half spoke, half sung an Orphic hymn as she made the sacrifice, repeating as necessary.
Akoúste me, Theé mou! tou opoíou i anadyómeni aktína odigeí stin evreía axioprépeia tis iméras.
I kokkinistikí Eos, tis opoías to ouránio fos aktinovoleí ston kósmo me to kókkino spérnounrs foteinó:
Ángelos tou Titána, o opoíos me synechí strongyló, anatoliká aktínes sas anakaleí apó ti nýchta vathiá:
Ergasía káthe eídous pou odigeí eínai eséna, tis thnitís zoís o ypourgós theïkós.
I anthropótita mésa sou arései aiónia kai kanénas den ypotíthetai óti tha apofýgei to ypérocho sou théama.
Kathós ta spathiá sou spáne tis zónes anápafsis kai ta mátia anoígoun me katapliktikó ýpno katapiesméno.
Ánthropoi, erpetá, pouliá kai thiría, me genikí foní, kai óla ta éthni ton vathión, chaírontai.
Giatí óli i koultoúra tis zoís mas eínai dikó sou. Eláte, evlogiméni dýnami! kai se aftés tis táseis klísi:
To ágio fos sou afxánetai kai adiáforo diachéei ti lámpsi tou sto myaló tou mystikistí sou.
Egó, o gios sou, o Loúsifer stéketai brostá sou gia na anazoogonísei to maraméno ampéli. Me to aíma pou ríchno ypenthymízo sti Gaía óti sýntoma tha epistrépsei i zoferí zoí sti zoí.
Prosféro to aíma ton zóon kai to aíma tou eaftoú mou gia na gyríso ton kýklo stin proigoúmeni áfixí sas, agapití mitéra Éos.
Akoúste, akoúste kai parakolouthíste páno mas méchri na férete xaná foteiní avgí páno sta kataprásina pedía.
Blood poured out across her arms, onto the dress, leaving a red wash on the white paving walkway of the garden. The animal was dressed and spitted. The goat propped over the fire, entrails and forelimbs burning in the fire. A life given that would feed the house in the morning and be shared into the community beyond. A life given to remind of life to come.
Once the fire was stable and the animal cooking she wondered if she should call out to her soulmate. It would be the same voice as always, even the speaking voice would remain the same with verbal communication. Happiness pulled at her, but there was an unhurried need for quiet and isolation too. She shifted nervously, fearful that this form would not be appreciated or would drive him away. Why those thoughts came she did not know. They were ridiculous and mentally known false, but the fears of the heart were overriding the mind. Lucifer always feared loss of everyone important. Still she waited, eyes gliding between the entrances to the garden, wondering if he would come here looking or not. As she sat watching the fire, blood drying to skin, there was no way to tell which would be preferred. She felt torn inside the indecision as deep and clear as the rift between her genders. Nothing seemed whole or certain.
