Chapter Text
And thirdly, it rained today, well, in a different way somehow. Drops elegantly fell from the sky as if trying to whisper something in their short flight. In the grayish dust dancing in the icy breeze, in the crunch of the wood of the old church and even in the softness of the dried grass, there was a certain anxiety, as if the whole dull area was impatiently waiting for something.
As a priest, Dostoevsky certainly felt these, so to speak, metamorphoses physically: in the itching in his knees, in the inability to take a deep breath, as well as in an uncharacteristic restlessness. Less surprising changes occurred in his so-called “soul”, which today every now and then seemed to be trying to evaporate somewhere surprisingly not even very far. It was for this reason that Fyodor decided to repeat in his head a list of all the strange spiritual sensations that he experienced today. Point one and point two, unfortunately, had to be mentally crossed out, since “need to mend that white lace T-shirt” and “need to wipe the icons today” were surprisingly not full-fledged points on this list.
-Holy Father!
A man with lilac-colored milky locks and beautiful brown eyes covered by magenta lenses came out of the room.
-Holy Father, I have prepared cocoa for you. Let's go inside, please, it's freezing outside, you'll catch cold!
Dostoevsky responded with a slight smile and exhaled. A frosty haze formed around his face, further confirming Sigma's words.
-Thank you. Let's indeed go inside.
And so the priest's gaze left the meadows overgrown with fragrant snowdrops, and the rotting village of N visible in the distance, and even the coolness of the sky, since the only windows in this small church were covered with multiple stained glass windows. And the cocoa, after all, was very tasty.
Over time, the T-shirt with lace was mended and even the icons were all wiped clean (thanks to Sigmochka for this). The service ended at 2 a.m. an hour ago. They even launched multi-colored fireworks for the little ones (Fyodor hated fireworks, but his lavender wife Agatha convinced him that gen alpha would appreciate them). The night turned out to be colder than before, but even so, Sigma and Fedya still went out into the cruel weather to admire the first, but far from the only star in the night sky. There were no more people left, the village was dozing in anticipation of the morning communion, only pigeons, for some reason pigeons were flying around. And it was the pigeons that were cooing with their wingspan and with their whole being, the pigeons were cooing.
-Take this, Holy Father, or you'll freeze completely.
A pheasant-colored sheepskin coat was immediately thrown over the shoulders of the eternally freezing skinny brunette. It became warmer.
-You, Sigma, did a good job cleaning up today, but we should divide the responsibilities.
-N-no need, really!
-I can't let you do all the work in the church, Sigma.
-Fyodor, you don't understand!
The young man's voice was more passionate than usual.
On May 28, exactly nine hundred and fifty-six days ago, while returning to his native village after a trip with Christie to Siberia, the priest noticed a lost boy with dyed hair on the platform. And the boy's gaze expressed such incredible hopelessness and despair that the good-natured man simply could not help but approach him.
-You need help.
It was not even a question. These were the first words that Sigma could remember in his entire life. Because he could not remember the aforementioned life at all, no matter how hard our emo boy tried.
And since that very day, Sigma (as he called himself) has been living at the church for 3 years. During this time, the guest learned all the prayers, the names of all the Saints, and even managed to learn Russian very well.
A breeze ran across the earth, for some reason across the sinful earth, as if spreading blades of grass across it once again.
- I understand very well, Sigma. But-
- Father Fyodor!
Sigma interrupted the elder.
- Look! Is this... is this a falling star!?
Either asking or exclaiming, the young man cried out, leaning on the dilapidated fence built around a small garden with long-faded roses. Siggy's answer was only silence. The priest simply stood with his mouth open, looking at the sky. He knew that whatever it was, it was definitely not a falling star. He knew that whatever it was, it was falling on the very building near which the friends were standing.
- Sigma, run!
With these words, the brunette grabbed Sigma by the elbow bone and dragged him like a whirlwind towards the local oak forest. Mighty trunks, stretching to the very sky, sprouted in every meter of the forest, but even such noble, thick branches shook when this happened. An unknown body fell to the ground, an unknown body fell to the ground right in front of the entrance to the temple, and not a single sound was made by its fall, not a single hare, not a single hedgehog bothered to even look in the direction of the temple, except that two finches and one willow warbler, frightened by the breath of wind and the crunch of branches, flew away somewhere into the distance.
-What is this…?
Dostoevsky still kept silent, like sinners after communion, he was afraid of losing that momentary peace that had come over his soul after seeing the whole church and only some unknown object, unnoticeable in the night darkness. After waiting a couple of moments, which somehow turned into minutes, and making sure that there seemed to be no danger, Fyodor decided to raise his voice.
-We'll find out now.
Both men began to approach the figure, which was increasingly resembling a man, vigilantly and slowly. The stars demonstratively began to shine much brighter, like a spotlight in some theater that no one needed, where the actors continued to play even without an audience.
-Oh, my God!
Dostoevsky screamed and immediately broke into a run, finally recognizing in the guest someone breathing and, accordingly, still alive. Sigma was unsure of this decision, but still decided to run after the priest. Having reached the man (?)Fyodor was finally able to examine the night guest.
It was a guy of about twenty to twenty-five years old, his head was adorned with fluffy, feather-like hair, either ivory or mint-cream in the “vkei” hairstyle style, snow-white eyelashes grew on his closed eyes like frost. The man was completely naked, which revealed his milky skin and muscular body, on which there was not a single scratch even after falling from heaven. But the most noticeable thing about his figure were… wings. Real wings of a grayish shade!
-He’s…
-An angel.
Fyodor guessed.