Abby wasn’t sure when or why the angel came to her village. It wasn’t a pious place, little more than a few dozens houses deep in the forest. The shrine at the village’s heart wasn’t even dedicated to any angels, but to a different goddess Abby also felt no particular devotion to. At first she didn’t believe there even was an angel. For weeks rumors had circulated through the village, hushed conversations about a stranger in grey frequenting the mayor’s office, or otherworldly singing in the woods at night. Abby, however, hadn’t noticed the barest hint of anything unusual. She was more concerned that a pack of wolves had started hunting closer to the village, taking more game from the people. A young woman of twenty years, Abby had dwindling patience for stories. The real world offered plenty of its own challenges.

This changed one morning, as she made her way through the village square. Her father was a leatherworker, and one of the local hunters had some fresh rabbit pelts to sell. It used to be elk, until the wolves moved in. Above the sky was a clear deep blue, so vast and bright one felt they might fall into it if they looked up too long. Still, the morning air was cool and light. Abby sang to herself as she walked, a habit of hers. As she returned home, coin purse lighter and the wrapped hides gathered in her arms, however, she heard something drifting across the square. A voice, resonant and silken, singing along with her. Furrowing her brow, she looked to the sound.

And then she saw the angel. No one else seemed to notice Her. Understandable, given She didn’t look out of the ordinary. Just a tall, slightly pale woman, hair cascading in black waves down Her shoulders, clad in a well-tailored but plain grey dress. She leaned back against the wall of a house, watching Abby and singing with her, like one old friend greeting another. Something like fondness warmed the girl’s chest, even though she’d never seen this woman before in her life. Even though she felt something in Her gaze. A knowingness, like She knew something Abby should have but didn’t. A little bell chimed in the girl’s head, warning, That’s Her. That’s the angel. She turned away and hurried home.

The angel began to follow Abby. Every time she went to fetch pelts, watching her from across the square. Every time she went out to chop fire wood, a shadow observing from deeper in the forest. Every time she joined the rest of the village for a meager feast, sat across the longhouse, slipping the girl glances. Abby’s apprehension at this was short-lived, however. Each time, she felt a little more warmth under the angel’s eyes. Felt a little more affection in Her stare. There were times where she felt she wanted to run, or shout for someone else to notice this stranger haunting her. But then she would meet the warm brown of the angel’s eyes again, become lost in Her beautiful face and Her beautiful voice, and feel her racing heart calm. Abby could tell the angel loved her.

Soon the rumors fizzled out, and the wolves moved away from the village, someone apparently having worked out some plan to scare them away. That’s when the angel began to get closer. On another clear morning as Abby went to buy pelts, she found the angel stood in the middle of the square, Her face even brighter with a kind smile. The next night, she heard the angel’s voice through her bedroom window, singing to her just as those old stories had said. The girl laid awake for hours listening, swaddled in a sense of deep calm. At the next feast, the angel sat at the opposite end of Abby’s table, watching her lovingly. No one else acknowledged Her. Abby was almost glad for this. She was Abby’s angel, after all.

One night, the angel was silent. Abby laid still as stone in bed, waiting to hear Her singing. Instead, silence. Anxiety began to bubble up in her chest. Crawling out of bed, Abby went to her window. There, silhouetted in the moonlight and faded by a thin mist hanging between the trees, was the angel. Calm washed over the girl at once. But why wasn’t her angel singing? Was there something wrong? Creeping out of the house, the night air stinging cold through her gown, Abby entered the forest. But no matter how deep she went, her angel never seemed to get any nearer. Before long she lost sight of the angel entirely in the swirling fog. Shivering, she looked around, trying to find Her again. Just as fear started to boil up in her chest, however, she heard it: singing. With a gasp of relief, Abby followed the sound, adding her voice to the tune as she walked.

When Abby found her angel again, Her silhouette had changed. The angel stood even taller now, and from Her back spread six vast wings, feathers glinting a faint silver in the moonlight. In the center of Her forehead flickered a point of golden light. It was Her, though. Her voice was no different as She and Her girl sang together. It was a welcome, those many wings spread so wide. Beaming, Abby eagerly followed.

“Abby!” A voice, crying out from the forest behind her. Her father. “Abby, come back!”

The angel went silent. Abby looked from Her back towards town. In her head, that little warning bell chimed again. Go home. Hurry. Run home now.

“Abby!” Father was frantic, his voice frayed on the edge of panic. “Please come back, Abby!”

“It’s alright, little dove.” This was the angel, Her voice as encompassing as the fog and as warm as a lit fireplace. “He denies it, but he already understands.”

Abby was torn. Wanting to stay with Her. Unable to ignore her father’s voice nor that frantic little bell. “What does he understand?”

Abby could almost hear the angel’s smile. “That you are mine now.” She extended her hand to the girl. A moment of confusion- a sense that some undercurrent ran beneath this, one Abby was just barely too late in noticing.

“You will be loved, Abby,” the angel assured her. “Loved as few ever are.” Then, understanding. It didn’t matter what mechanisms brought Abby here. Yes, her angel loved her. She could feel it buzzing in the air, could hear it in the faint rumble like distant thunder roiling beneath the angel’s voice. Her angel wanted this for her. Abby’s world shrank to that. Her father’s voice faded into a hollow echo, far away between the trees, as she took her angel’s hand.

***

Abby wakes to tolling bells. Blinking sleep from her eyes, she disentangles herself from the other girls dozing around her and crawls out of their bed. One by one they all get up as well, docile creatures that they are. They sleep huddled on a nest of cushions and blankets as soft and pale as clouds, and begin their days eating a rich sweet slurry from silver bowls. It’s warm, wherever they are, their room large enough to comfortably fit the five of them, every surface soft and some shade of either white, grey, or gold. Most days, when the waking bells toll thrice, they live in simple bliss. Lounging in their nest, singing or chattering aimlessly, innocently exploring each other’s soft bodies.

Today, however, the bells tolled four times. The girls eat, then clean themselves in the shallow river flowing through the center of their abode and dress in light silver robes. Then they face the closed doors at one end of the room and kneel. The Seraphim are coming.

Outside the doors, a heavy thrumming of vast wings can be heard. Then a lock clicks and they open. The Seraphim, in Their radiance, meld together into a mass of luminous wings and ivory faces as They file inside. Abby can hardly discern individual forms in the eye-searing light, no matter how she squints. But it’s above her to question Them in any capacity. They take Their places along the walls, a line of shining towers looming over the girls. The doors close. 

Everything in its rightful place, the girls begin to sing. A slow, droning melody, saved from monotony only by the sweetness of their voices. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” The Seraphim listen, intent as cats to birdsong. There’s a raptness in Their silence. Squinting into Their bright aura, Abby fancies she can just make out Their expressions. Wistful smiles. Lips moving along with the words. Pearly tears rolling down from many golden eyes. Her heart soars, giving back to the divine like this. She loves Them. She wants to give whatever she can to Them. They, after all, have brought her to paradise. Everything before coming here is dark mist, swirling with things she knows she doesn’t need to remember. Heaven is here with her now. After a short while, the song comes to an end.

Some of the Seraphim leave, sated by the show of worship. Others, however, are hungrier. They advance on the girls with slow, purposeful strides. Savoring the doe-eyed looks cast up at Them. Abby in the first to stand and let one pull her into Her inexorable embrace. She wants to give the Seraphim what she can. She has worshipped Them with her voice. Now she will worship Them with her body.

“Such a good little dove,” purrs the Seraph, Her voice like thick warm honey and Her touch like the lick of candle flame. “So obedient.” She leans down and runs Her tongue across Abby’s cheek, saliva buzzing against her skin like static. The last coherent thing Abby sees is six wings wrapping around her and tightening like a cocoon.

The world becomes a blur of silver feathers and golden eyes and electric touches prying into every crevice of Abby’s body. Long fingers probe between her lips, sparking against her tongue, while more explore between her legs. Teeth nibble at her shoulders and neck, the burn of the Seraphim’s fiery breath hurting more than Their biting. All around feathers and fabric rustle as the girls mewl and moan and their Mistresses chuckle and coo. 

Abbys head swims as she’s passed between Them, extracted from one shell of powerful wings only to find herself drowning in another. She glimpses a smile, loving and serene, red trickling from perfect pale lips. Then she’s bitten again on her shoulder, harder now, and feels a tongue like a live wire lap at the wound. Abby is on her back, twitching and gasping as that tongue laps between her legs. Abby is between twelve wings, feathers soft against her bare skin as hands like heated iron grope her. Abby is on her knees, feeling something thick and viscous running down her temple. Abby feels the hot gold of a halo placed before her lips and starts to lick along its circumference, ignoring how the metal scalds her tongue. Abby tries to sing “Holy, Holy, Holy”. Sometimes They let her, for a moment. Sometimes They give her open mouth another purpose.

The world spins. Hands and teeth and feathers all over her, pulling her from one towering shape in the light to the next. She’s dizzy. She feels sick. Her Mistresses lavish Their playthings- lavish Abby- with gentle praise. “Good little doves, such devoted little doves.” She feels wonderful. This is heaven. Everything hurts. Nails like knives right out of the forge rake against her back.

Eventually Abby finds herself, panting and aching, cradled in one Seraph’s lap. She tries to open her eyes but sees only silvery blurs. She tries to move but hands and wings hold her still. So, she settles. Lets herself sink into exhaustion, so bone deep even the pain fades into incoherence. Lets herself be held like the doll she now is. The room is mostly quiet. Some soft assurances of Mistresses to Their toys, a little whimper from one of Abby’s fellows.

The Seraph places a soft kiss on her forehead. Abby tries again to open her eyes and finds the light has dulled. A flawless pearlescent face smiles down at her, achingly loving, framed by waves of black hair cascading down smooth shoulders. It’s the Angel. Abby’s Angel. Recognizable even with the trio of golden eyes staring from Her forehead. The girl manages a weak smile of her own. 

“It’s as I said, my dove.” The Angel runs Her thumb over Abby’s cheek, soothing the burning there. “You will be loved here.” She takes in a light breath and begins to quietly sing. Something soft and faintly familiar, just for Abby. Abby feels her pains start to fade, as if she’s sinking into cool water. Finding her breath, she sings along. Somewhere, a bell chimes.