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Dovie by PreTeenWriter
Chapter 1 : Prologue
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 7

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A/N - This story, in the present, is undergoing major updates, but you can still read it - I'll just be re-writing and editing sporatically for a while. Thanks for bearing with me!

Describing the world into which I was brought into will not help pictures to spring to the head of the person who listens to our sacred mumblings, unfortunately, but will only confuse the person even more, causing them to turn to silly, human comparisons. There is no comparing heaven to something as melodramatic and simple as ‘the moonlight reflecting off the glistening surface of the lake, the light blue surface looking like an oil painting, of Monet perhaps, it’s style smooth for the eye to see, but so complex deep down.’

‘The light, so bright it was colourless, it shocked the eyes and betrayed the pupils, shrinking them deep into their shell once more, causing them to retreat,’ will not do it justice either. The human language, of English, French, Italian, or any language you can think to name, cannot compare with a single word of my language, the language that flows off ones tongue, which bewitches the mortals, that which kills every so called beauty in the human world.

But to see it properly, you must be ethereal, an inhuman being, something that is neither alive nor dead; not an angel, no, not one of the lowly creatures that feed upon the dead with their sad little harps and legends that spew from mortals’ mouths, but not a spirit either, not the sad, lost wisps of a human that still fly across their lands, seeking a place to rest, because they cannot accept what lies after they are born – after they die, as they say it.

I may sound pessimistic as I write this, but I assure you I am not. In fact, this is only clarifying my world for you, as you sit in your plush chairs, the dust seeping in and out of your pores, the aura bouncing bright and clear (things you cannot see), following with simple, weak eyes the strokes of black that make up your language, printed on a course material, which rubs against your thin skin.

I am a Dovie, an angel of light, the majestic being that serves the Great One until the sky collapses upon us and the clouds smother us with their wings, curling the tendrils deep inside of the space that lies between us and you, imploding. Dovie is a puerile term, however, but I’m afraid that spelling it out in the language I have mentioned to you before is hopeless; these harsh ink strokes cannot capture the magnificence.

Dovais, we call each other, the (as it may seem to you) bright light that seems to reflect off of the orb that is the true Dovie shimmering slightly as the word rolls out into the atmosphere, to be collected by a deep mind, trapped inside layers of memory and time, never again taken back.

I was created like all other Dovies, though precious few of us exit. A million humans make up only the tiniest molecule of a Dovie, which is reasonable, since we are hardly human at all; no fraction can compare how inhuman we are. It is like saying that the Great One inhabits everything He has created. And that is what we are – we are tiny pieces of the Great One, set upon the heavens to restore chaos to order.

The Great One, as you might have guessed, is indeed the being you call God, or any other names you might have for him. Contrary to religions, no ‘God’ will strike you down because you have petty beliefs that you decide can guide you throughout life. Let me strike off a few myths for you. Jesus is a myth, because the son of the Great One is the Dovies he produces, that he shapes into vague shapes which torture humans to the point where they must retreat further into clouds of smoke and self-destruction.

Angels are not myths, as many atheists will say, but they are not as portrayed in the Holy Bible, either. The Holy Bible is almost completely false, with its theories on their God creating the world, the universe, challenging Noah to build an ark after before drowning his people; stupid little stories to glorify life, to churn hope in a destitute world.

The Church spreads these lies, creating glorious webs in which they prey upon the heathens of their choice, stepping down from their robes and crosses to touch the head of an invalid, saying they are cured; in fact, they are not cured, the invalids, but almost cursed with the illusion of good health, causing everything in their body to be on its own, without the willpower they might have had before.

Humans have a problem with letting go, letting their friends, family and loved ones go, letting go of people they have only chanced a glance at, feeling compassion and empathy – selfish human traits, more self glorification, of course. Dovies feel sympathy, not empathy, but not all of us deign to stoop as low as pretending to be a human.

And I? I was merely the second Dovie to ever grace their tiny world called Earth (a rather uncreative name, since all it is filled with is the water and earth, along with poisonous fumes they have coaxed from the goodness the Great One has given them). Both of us didn’t stay for very long, since Earth is a monotonous place – imagine living there for thousands of years! I cannot fathom how somebody could watch these poor things destroy themselves century after century, blaming it on others instead of sharing the burden.

When I was created, I could hear the notes of a harsh and nasal tone, one that repudiated itself with the illusion of also being soft and melodic, like the sweetest lullaby a mother could sing to her children, lying them down, openly sacrificing them to the will of their God, and our Great One.

To humans, it would seem like the brightest light, so bright that one could not distinguish the difference between black and white inside of it, with two orbs beside of it; the most legendary Dovies to this day, who were created almost immediately after the Great One had come to power in the beginning. Yes, eternity had a beginning, contradictory to what many think, and it will have an end. For humans, eternity means forever, never ending; it hurts their small brains to simply rest upon the fact of eternity. To us, it means for the longest time possible before the Great One decides that nothing should exist.

Recorded in many history books, and in my mind, are the name Gabriel and Meaghan for the Dovies next to him, yet they are not pronounced in any method a human could think of; not with the rolling tongue of a Scotsman, not with the flat intonation of an American, not with the jumpy vibe of a Hispanic, but with the flowing roll of a Dovie. Ga-chri-elle would be the closest way I could spell it out, and Me-chren.

They asked me whether I would rather dwell upon Earth, tending to the lowly mortals which the Great One had created for amusement, (and no, that is not sacrilege, but a fact), and for the pleasure of watching a world unfold, or whether I would serve the Great One battling the creatures that writhed in the pits of Hell – the Sareths.

What prompted me to choose such a twisted life, something perishable, where in a single year, fates could be decided, and the whole of their world could change? I could not say, but watching the Dovies above me frolic in their blissful happiness, changing the world every century at a time, controlling these poor things, made me think, made me sympathize with the corporeal creatures, whose thoughts of greatness were indeed so inconsequential.

When the thought was passed on between the four of us (and who else was listening? I have no idea, but I suspect many others were watching), the Great One motioned over Meaghan, showing her to me, the dialect that escaped from the orb, wrapping me in a blanket that comforted and suffocated me, explaining that she would be my mentor, helping me through the winding paths of life. If I had not chosen Earth, I would hardly know Meaghan, hardly know what her voice sounded like, speaking all languages, both celestial and heavy.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to realize that my form had been moulded, as I was gently pushed away from the heavens. I panicked, calling out softly, not knowing whether anyone but myself could hear my voice, whether it was only in my head or if the Great One heard my pleas. Meaghan was beside me as we wafted ourselves into a planet full of dull colours, a dark planet, green and blue, with unimpressive sculptures made of crude things like rock and wood.

Quickly, in a vaporous voice, Meaghan began to speak in a language quite foreign to me, telling me in Dovie when she saw my confused expression that this was the language of the people I was to blend in with. I was disappointed at the thick slur of sounds, which weren’t particularly attractive whatsoever, each syllable sounding like a dull clunk.

“Pay attention,” Meaghan said, patient as always, condescending as well, since she preferred to distance herself from the young Dovies. “Or I shall not bother with you. It has been a century since a new Dovie has been created, and I’m not accustomed to having disrespect from a lower form.”

I murmured my apology and she quickly corrected me in English, as I repeated in, tongue feeling clumsy as I managed to get the syllables of the plea for forgiveness out. “I am sorry.”

“Good, very good,” Meaghan was happy now, even though I couldn’t see anything to indicate it, the brogue lighter. “Humans have very mortal names as well, Dovais, but I refuse to label you with such a name as Mary.” And she said this with such a tone of disgust, that I imitated her, truly disliking this name.

“Mary,” I whispered, trying it out. It didn’t fit whatsoever, it sounded almost monosyllabic.

“I have a name for you,” Meaghan said suddenly, “that will make you seem more human. It is Dana, and it means from Denmark. You have blonde hair, and I think they will believe you, for people from that small division of land look similar to your appearance.”

I ran the strange thing made out of pinky peach flesh over what I assumed to be a human face, where bumps lay – the lips, the nose, the eyes, the eyebrows – it was fascinating. I knew the names by what seemed to be instant information, like it was programmed into my head by the Great One.

“But the eyes are not human,” Meaghan told me, instructing me to close my eyes quickly and then open them. She sighed afterwards, telling me that no matter what, they would be a subject of great interest, for they were no colour, like a bright light that stood out from the pupils, the faintest touches of blue swimming around. Even the pupil was a slightly darker shade of the iris, so that it looked eerie, I guess, to mere mortals, whose appearances were boring and stony.

We were now rising above a expanse of green, which swayed in the slight breeze that blew by us, toying with several tendrils of pale golden hair that was on my head – I touched it to be certain, and felt soft, silky strands of hair forming one sheath around my head, reaching all the way down to the bottom of my shoulder blades, seemingly tangled.

It was a beautiful place, especially for this world, but it was still nothing compared to the luscious grounds that now lay above us, where angels reclined happily, their eyes still blind to the beauty of heaven, seeing only earth qualities in my home.

“This is to be your new home,” Meaghan instructed, showing me a tall castle that seemed forbidding and angry, large grey stones stacked on top of each other, building a structure that implied royalty and riches. “A school, where humans learn. It is a school for magic, where the wizards and witches – that is what they call them – learn simple things, things you know.”

I nodded my head, excited and distracted as a group of humans passed below us, in a little pack, as if they clung to each other for survival. Meaghan quickly snapped me out of my daze, however.

“You must teach them to love, teach dark people to love so that they do not abet our enemies, so they do not destroy this simple world that the Great One has created. Do you understand?”

Her English was rather fractured, but I could hardly get a word out in my fright and excitement, choosing to stare at this small place instead of up at my mentor and guide, whose help I would probably need.

“But do not let yourself succumb to human impulses, the fugacious needs which control their lives,” Meaghan said, slowly fading away from my sight – or was it that I was fading away from that moment? Yes, I was dropping down from my perch among the clouds, the atmosphere and the stars which clung eagerly to each other like the humans did below – ready to join them. “Do not fall in love.”

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