Night had fallen by the time Raphael arrived at Peter's hut. He expected the old man would be returning from the Gates soon and hoped he wouldn't mind some company. The former apostle remained isolated from the Vale and had never been reunited with his friends after their deaths. Michael had deemed it a conflict of interest.
As he waited for Peter, Raphael felt his anger rise at the thought of the Lord Protector, and he didn't like the feeling one bit. Would there be any way to come back from his betrayal? He feared Michael would never take responsibility if he stuck to his own version of the facts. It grieved him.

"You look weary, old friend." Raphael's head jerked up at Peter's voice. The latter walked up to him and offered a sad smile. "You'll get wrinkles if you worry too much. Just look at me."

"How can I not worry after everything that's happened today?" replied Raphael wearily.

"Yes, I find both my mind and heart weighing heavy as well. I was actually hoping to speak with you. What are your thoughts on Michael's announcement?"

"His what?"

"I'm surprised you haven't seen it. It was sent to everyone's home, even mine."

Peter entered the hut, with Raphael close behind him. He handed the physician a document, which Raphael read aloud.

"'Until further notice, the Archangel Gabriël shall stay in the Lord Protector's Villa for safety reasons. There, he will receive further treatment for his poisoning from the Archangel Raphael. None other shall be allowed to see him. The angel Joan of Arc has fallen. She has lost her wings because of insubordination and intentionally placing others in danger. This is a crime which cannot be tolerated in the Vale.' Good Lord, he's almost comparing the poor girl to those wretches in the Circles. I should have known he would cover things up. And now I also understand why none of the other Archangels have come to me. His explanation of our rune is the only truth in here."

"What do you mean? What explanation?"

Raphael put the document on the table and pointed to a blank spot at the bottom.

"Either I am going blind, or you see things which aren't there," said Peter, his nose and forehead scrunched in confusion.

"Oh Heavens, I forgot. It's written in golden ink, so only Archangels can read it. Michael uses it occasionally for important messages. I'm not even supposed to be telling you this."

"Who would I tell?" Peter grinned.

"You must be tired of being everyone's personal shrink?"

"In life, many came to me for advice and wisdom. I believe it is only natural that I should continue to be that supporting pillar in death. May I ask what Michael wrote for you?"

Raphael took the document back and read it aloud, "'Raphael and I,' oh, the nerve of the man, including me in this! 'Raphael and I were forced to use Heaven's Fire to cleanse Gabriël of the demon that haunted him. Many of you believe this to be barbaric, I know, yet the darkness in our friend was growing too strong. It had to be done. I ask your understanding and assure you I shall do whatever I can to ensure Gabriël is not lost to us'."

The physician sat down at the table next to Peter. A cup of water appeared in his hand. He looked at it, and the liquid inside grew dark. He needed something stronger than water.

"I never understood why it can only be wine; it grows so tedious after a few times," observed Peter. "Raphael... do you believe he can still be saved?"

"I don't know." Raphael gave a sigh, knowing who the Keeper was referring to. "I truly hope so. But we both saw his rune fading, didn't we? That only means one thing; Gabriël has broken his vow."

"But which vow? The one to Michael or the one to God? Both are connected to the rune, are they not?"

"It makes no difference. The other will soon be broken too. It's only a matter of time."

"Unless a certain young lady we know can convince him otherwise."

"We don't even know if Gabriël is really looking for Joan."

Peter smiled.

"He has already found her. This arrived about an hour ago."

He got a small piece of paper out of his robe and handed it to Raphael. 

𝒢𝒶𝒷𝓇𝒾ë𝓁 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒶. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒥𝑜𝒶𝓃.
𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.
𝒜.𝐵.

"Well, at least that's one less thing to worry about." He exhaled in relief at Anne's fine handwriting.

"Only," Peter hesitated, "how did he know where to go?"

They looked at each other in silence. Neither Peter, Raphael, nor Michael had told their friend of Joan's whereabouts. So how had Gabriël known the Fallen Angel was at Resia?
Suddenly, a folded piece of parchment fell out of mid-air, right on the table. Raphael held his breath upon seeing the symbol drawn on the front - Gabriël's rune. Peter picked it up and unfolded it. The Archangel came to stand behind him to read the message over his shoulder.

Pҽƚҽɾ,
I ԋσρҽ Mιƈԋαҽʅ ԋαʂ ɳσƚ ԋαɾɱҽԃ ყσυ ϝσɾ ɯιƚɳҽʂʂιɳɠ ƚԋιʂ ɱσɾɳιɳɠ'ʂ ҽʋҽɳƚʂ. I αɱ ɯιƚԋ Jσαɳ ιɳ ƚԋҽ Nҽρԋιʅιɱ Sαɳƈƚυɱ σϝ Lαɠσ ԃι Rҽʂια, Ⴆυƚ σϝ ƈσυɾʂҽ, ყσυ αʅɾҽαԃყ ƙɳσɯ ƚԋιʂ. Sԋҽ ʂҽɳԃʂ ყσυ ԋҽɾ ʅσʋҽ αɳԃ ʂαყʂ ʂԋҽ ɱιʂʂҽʂ ყσυ.
Yσυ ԋαʋҽ ɳσ σႦʅιɠαƚισɳ ƚσ ɱҽ αɳყɱσɾҽ, Ⴆυƚ I ɱυʂƚ αʂƙ ყσυ ƚσ ƈσɳƚαƈƚ Rαρԋαҽʅ αɳԃ ƚҽʅʅ ԋιɱ ƚσ ɾҽɱαιɳ ʂιʅҽɳƚ ƚσ ƚԋҽ σƚԋҽɾ Aɾƈԋαɳɠҽʅʂ. AႦσυƚ Mαɾɠαɾҽƚ, αႦσυƚ LιɠԋƚBɾιɳɠҽɾ, Ⴆυƚ ҽʂρҽƈιαʅʅყ αႦσυƚ Mιƈԋαҽʅ. Nσ ԃσυႦƚ ԋҽ'ʅʅ ɾҽϝυʂҽ ƚԋιʂ αƚ ϝιɾʂƚ. I ƚσʅԃ ԋιɱ ƚσ ƈσɱҽ ϝσɾɯαɾԃ Ⴆυƚ ɳσɯ ιʂ ɳσƚ ƚԋҽ ƚιɱҽ.
Yσυ ƈαɳɳσƚ αϝϝσɾԃ ƚσ ʅσʂҽ Mιƈԋαҽʅ. Iϝ ԋҽ ɠσҽʂ, ƚԋҽ Cιɾƈʅҽʂ ɯιʅʅ ɳσƚ ԋҽʂιƚαƚҽ ƚσ αƚƚαƈƙ ყσυ, αɳԃ ƚԋҽ Hҽαʋҽɳʂ ɯιʅʅ ɱσʂƚ ƈҽɾƚαιɳʅყ ϝαʅʅ. Iƚ ραιɳʂ ɱҽ ƚσ αԃɱιƚ ιƚ, Ⴆυƚ ყσυ αɾҽ ʋυʅɳҽɾαႦʅҽ ɯιƚԋσυƚ Mιƈԋαҽʅ αʂ Lσɾԃ Pɾσƚҽƈƚσɾ. Sσ ρʅҽαʂҽ, ɱყ ϝɾιҽɳԃ (ιϝ I ƈαɳ ʂƚιʅʅ ƈαʅʅ ყσυ ƚԋαƚ), αʂƙ Rαρԋαҽʅ ƚσ ƙҽҽρ ʂιʅҽɳƚ ϝσɾ ƚԋҽ ƚιɱҽ Ⴆҽιɳɠ.
I ɯιʂԋ ყσυ Ⴆσƚԋ ɯҽʅʅ. 
GαႦɾιëʅ
PS Jσαɳ αʂƙʂ ƚԋαƚ ʂσɱҽσɳҽ ʅҽƚʂ ԋҽɾ ɱσƚԋҽɾ ƙɳσɯ ʂԋҽ'ʂ ɯҽʅʅ.

"Thank God for small graces." Raphael took the letter from Peter. "He yet feels some responsibility for the Vale. He's not lost yet."

"But see how he phrased his words?" Peter pointed at the last paragraph. "He doesn't see himself as one of us anymore. He won't return here. Nor will he fight with us, I believe."

"Perhaps not with the Vale's forces, but he will with the Nephilim. The Resia faction is one of our best. Gabriël and Joan will make a fine addition to their ranks. This is the best outcome for them, and one the other Archangels will accept if they know it's Gabriël's own choice."

"Is it, though? Or is it what he wants you to believe?"

"Peter, I -"

"Forgive me, Raphael. But we have to face the truth. If the demon who has been controlling Gabriël is indeed Lucifer, he may yet choose another path. One he can never walk back from."

Raphael shook his head, but was nonetheless left to ponder once again. He left the old man to rest, taking Gabriël's message with him. Isabelle would want to know of any news of her daughter, but there was another he had to see first. And the Lord Protector was damned well going to listen this time.

***

Michael's hair stuck to his forehead and neck, wet with sweat, as he passed two female angels on his way home from the training room. He couldn't hear what they were talking about (and didn't really care), but they ceased their conversation as he neared them. They greeted him with a shy smile. When he had left them behind, he heard them both sighing. Their reaction made him think of Margaret again.
Every time Michael closed his eyes, he saw a vision of her. He had hoped that training might help him forget, but she occupied his every thought. It sickened him to think how far he had allowed things to go. Not just because it went against his own rules, but because he had never even considered being with a woman. Michael felt nothing for the opposite sex, and he had never understood what attracted women to him, even before the ban on romantic relations in the Vale. Then again, he had never understood why Lucifer had desired him, either.
With his mind still in turmoil, Michael climbed the steps to the Villa. Raphael waited at the entrance, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up. He didn't appear to be angry anymore, but looks could be deceiving. 

"I did not think you would want to speak to me again," said Michael as he halted in front of the physician.

"And I did not think the day would come when we learned we do not know you at all," refuted Raphael. "Yet here we are."

The comment hurt. Not the words themselves, but that a friend had spoken them.

"What do you want, Raphael?" asked Michael with a tired voice.

"To give you the chance to explain your actions."

"I do not need -"

"Yes, you do, Michael. You most certainly do."

The Lord Protector knew it was futile to go against the physician. Even though he was chaotic, Raphael also had a knack for being relentless when he had a thought or idea stuck in his head. Michael nodded, and the physician followed him inside.

"I've read your 'statement'," said Raphael as they went up to the parlour. "You were clever in answering questions before they were even asked, but at a certain point, you will either have to produce Gabriël to the other Archangels or confess what really happened today. And in doing so, reveal everything else. Why he left, how a child could be conceived here... You may not need to reveal LightBringer, but if they find out you have kept that from them as well -"

"That will never happen," said Michael bluntly. "And Gabriël will return to us."

"Just because you want it does not mean it will happen. This has gone far enough, Michael. You can't keep lying to us. I have a good mind to gather the others and tell them what I know."

"Why have you not done so, then?"

Raphael handed him a crumpled piece of paper. Michael held his breath as he read Gabriël's words.

"Because he's right," explained Raphael. "With you gone, we're vulnerable. I want the truth revealed, but not at the expense of everyone here. And if the Heavens fall, the Circles will rise and destroy everything we have fought so hard to protect."

Michael said nothing as he reread the note in his hands. What Gabriël wrote... It wasn't too late yet. If he talked to Gabriël, there was still a chance he could put an end to this madness. 

"You won't be able to persuade him to return," said Raphael as Michael brushed past him in haste.

This stopped him in his tracks. His throat constricted. He turned to the physician, unable to keep a tear from falling.

"I have to try," uttered Michael in a broken voice. "He is my... He is one of us. I failed him. You must let me try to make things right."

"Michael, I understand why you want to go after him. But whatever you feel for Gabriël won't matter. He has already made his choice."

"Even so, I will never forgive myself if I just let him go."

Before the physician could say anything else, the Lord Protector ran out of the Villa and disappeared into the clouds.

***

It was nearly midnight. The witching hour, some called it. In Cesare's eyes, it was the perfect time for his revenge to take root. He had asked the Blood Countess to come to his quarters and bring whatever she required to perform the spell Kitty told him about. He pushed the furniture to one side to clear a space in the centre of the room. Bathory drew a circle with various symbols on the floor. The symbols lit up as soon as she stepped inside. She held her amulet and muttered inaudible incantations.
Cesare knew these things took time, but it seemed to drag on endlessly. He paced from the circle to the bed, where the former Howard Queen waited, with a bored look on her pretty face. Despite being condemned to a life in Hell, Kitty always looked like a blushing bride. The more time Cesare spent with Katheryn Howard, the more he saw Lucrezia in her. She'd been perfect, too. Her only flaw had been that she always wanted what he did not; a marriage, children, a happy family. Away from him. But Cesare had always brought her back into his arms.

"It is time."

Bathory's voice brought him out of his thoughts. Kitty rose and slowly walked towards her. The young girl took the Countess's hand and stepped into the circle. As soon as they stood face to face, the witch slashed open Kitty's hand with an athame and let the blood drip onto the floor. The symbols on the floor turned dark red.
Cesare couldn't help but stand in awe. A few words, a bit of blood and a circle drawn on his floor. These were the instruments of his revenge on the Boleyn woman. It all seemed so simple.

"It is done now," the Blood Countess said. "Do not disturb the symbols. In time, they will find all born of the Howard bloodline. The incantations I placed upon them shall only reveal those with Boleyn blood in their veins. When the symbols disappear, their essence will gather into this jewel. You will have all you need."

"How long?" asked Cesare, taking the drop-shaped diamond from her.

"Depends on how many are out there. The more there are, the more time the spell needs to find them. Have patience. And tend to the girl. I needed more blood than I expected."

"She's already dead. Why should I care?"

"Katheryn Howard is more important than you realise. Tend to her."

The Blood Countess walked out of the room, leaving Cesare confused. He turned to Kitty. She sat on the bed, holding her injured hand. It looked like she could faint at any moment. Cesare went to her. The wound was not too deep, but it was still bleeding. He ripped a piece of the sheet and bound it around Kitty's hand. His touch seemed to wake the girl up from a trance. She smiled at him in gratitude.

"Why does the Blood Countess believe you are important?" Bathory's words lingered in Cesare's mind.

"I am Queen. Aren't Queens most important?"

"You are no Queen down here. Here, you are but a slave."

Kitty's injured hand went to his face. Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage and stuck to his cheek. Her lips touched his. She pushed him back onto the bed with a force Cesare had not imagined and sat astride him. Kitty drew closer, but instead of kissing him again, she whispered to him,

"Tonight, you are my slave."

Her words triggered a memory. Cesare saw himself in his quarters of the Vatican. Lucrezia had come to him. He remembered she'd been crying because of their fight earlier that evening. He had called her a slave of love. She had spoken those same words just before they had...
No matter who was in Cesare's bed after that night, he would never see it as anything more than temporary amusement. His love was Lucrezia Borgia.
It had always been Lucrezia.
It would always be Lucrezia.