Chapter 1: An angel
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.
Chapter 2: First meeting the rain
Chapter Text
Freedom.
It's just a seven-letter word.
Can a mechanism have freedom? Can a mechanism think? Can the mechanism…
Decide?
Can a being like a robot, like a tool, like a weapon, or a machine have consciousness?
He was flying that day. What for? He didn't know. Why? Also nothing. But he flew for some reason and obviously for a reason. Like fate, which in its habitual essence either exists or does not exist. He flew in the Braslav region. We flew over forests and lakes, and admired the skies.
Where did he make a mistake? And would he do it again if he could go back?
Where did he make a mistake...?
Perhaps where he had the audacity to think about how beautiful the lakes were.…
It was a thought. And what was consciousness then?
Probably when he decided that he didn't want to consider the lakes beautiful at all.
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Angel woke up at around two in the morning and at around four in the morning he finally got up from the white brocade sofa. The wing was of insignificant size, even quite small: one kitchen, one pantry, one bathroom and two living rooms on the second floor. Having carefully brought the mystical guest into the annex, Fyodor and Sigma decided to take turns guarding him. That's how Nikolai actually found Siggy: snoring on the cold floor. The angel made a sound like a surprised mumble as he examined a familiar but such an alien life form. The man hummed to himself as his slender hands danced carefully around the man's multicolored locks, examining his rectangular face shape. A piercing lightning strike distracted the blond from his important business. He got up and he walked and he went outside, carefully opening the heavy door. It was raining. As expected, it was raining and it was still so long before dawn.
-Drip-drop
The angel imitated the rain particles falling like autumn leaves on the vicious earth, on rocks, on trees, on foliage. He stretched out his left arm and let the moist, diluted coolness envelop his entire body.
-Tu-tu-ru
The lightning hairs lit up in the sky again, they illuminated the entire sky in a mottled, but so pale color. The picture on the background of paradise looked like a split. “So that's what it's like... a storm from earth," Nikolai thought. An angel had never come down to Earth before, only once, only one day, only that day.
- Woah.
Kolya calmly turned towards the unknown source of the sound.
- Agatha, isn't it? It's a pleasure, you can call me Nikolai.
-When Fedya said that he and bunny had found an angel, I didn't believe it. But you really aren't human, either. No offense.
-I'm not capable of feeling resentment, Agatha. Can I-
-Listen. You really need to put something on, it's not very decent to walk around here naked, you know.
-I'm-
-So, Fed sleeps very soundly when he takes his pills, so we're unlikely to wake him up. Come to my room, I'll find something for you. Let's go, let's go!
And with these words, Agatha grabbed the guest by the hand and led him inside the room. Her burgundy nightgown was completely soaked and now stuck uncomfortably to her body. But Agatha didn't seem bothered by the rain.
-Why did you come out?
-Me? Oh, well, I often wake up in the middle of the night, and as soon as I remembered that these blockheads decided to guard you, I immediately realized that both of them had been snoring peacefully and having colorful dreams for a long time. So I went out in search of the so-called angel.
The words “so-called” slightly offended Nikolai, but he did not show it. Angel hated being touched, but he nevertheless decided to endure Agatha's firm grip. He hoped that soon he would be able to retire with his thoughts again. After all, this was his first time doing this.
-Here. This is my room with Fedya. Make yourself at home, so to speak. So…What can you wear?
The girl struck matches and lit a paraffin candle in a silver holder. While Agatha was rummaging in the closet, Nikolai examined the skinny figure lying on the bed, in the dark it was impossible to make out his facial features or hair color, but the angel knew perfectly well who it was, Fyodor Dostoevsky, 43 years old, a priest. That's all Kolya knew, he wasn't Serafim.
- Here! Here you go!
Agatha handed him a white floor-length dress, somewhat reminiscent of the hanfu of the Tang Dynasty.
-I don't need this, Agatha.
-Put it on! I'm sorry that it’s a dress, I don't have any other clothes, and Fedka's clothes won't fit you, ha-ha.
The angel nodded obediently and decided not to argue with the lady. He put on a robe, noticing that surprisingly the texture of the dress was quite pleasant and even delicate.
-Thank you, A-
-Don't worry, honey. Oh, you must be cold! Take this!
Despite the word “take”, Agatha did not give Nikolai anything, but only wrapped him in a plaid with the image of “Winnie the Pooh” surrounded by bees.
- Oh, you're probably hungry too! I'll get you something now!
Nikolai had no time to notice that, in fact, angels do not need food, as Agatha had already threw (literally threw) the candle on the table and disappeared through the interior door.
Kolya was not at all satisfied with the cruel and merciless fate of being a shawarma, so as soon as the door was closed, he immediately disentangled himself from the tight embrace of a warm blanket and, on tiptoe, carefully, so as not to wake Fyodor, began to wander around the small room. A window, a bedside table, a double bed and a large desk with a wardrobe full of books and various knickknacks: a bust of Pierro, a jewelry box, a broken doll, a woven willow photo frame. Nikolai took a candle from the table and carefully held it up to the picture. There were two girls in long dresses, looking like friends, looking like graduates (it was difficult to see their faces in such poor lighting). He held a candle to the books and quickly ran his eyes over them. It was impossible to see the names, but some of the surnames were visible.
- Celine, Simone de Beauvoir…
Kolya read in a whisper.
-...Ranpo Edogawa, Kant.