Shaken Loose by Ilana DeBare

Author:Ilana DeBare [DeBare, Ilana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hypatia Press
Published: 2023-07-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Baphomet

Eons ago Baphomet had been an angel. Like all of them.

Her job was gathering flowers for garlands. Flowers grew everywhere in Heaven, so it wasn’t hard finding them. The secret was in the mindfulness. Every blossom you picked was an offering to God, a testament to the beauty of His creation. So you couldn’t pick them lightly or carelessly. You couldn’t just toss them in a basket and run down a hill with your arms akimbo and hair streaming and flowers falling out every which way. You had to notice each petal. Each stamen. Each vein on each leaf, and how it connected to the larger vein down the middle. You had to set it in the basket with reverence, as if this were the only flower in the history of the universe. And you only picked certain flowers—the whitest ones, creamiest ones, laciest ones. Of course there was nothing wrong with colored flowers or ones with missing petals—God had created every flower, every piece of Heaven—but these were for garlands. The goal was symmetry, smoothness, consistency. Nothing that would distract from the angels’ tranquility as they contemplated God and the miracle of creation.

Baphomet loved her job. Her delicate fingers were perfect for reaching into a leafy mound and pinching off the tenderest, smoothest stem. Her hands were as smooth and flawless as the flowers. Sometimes she even imagined herself as a flower, set into a massive garland encircling the head of God himself.

Pride. Perhaps that was where it started.

No, that wasn’t the start. She had been content for millennia, gathering calla lilies and baby’s breath and presenting them to Ambriel and Paschar to weave into circlets.

The start was, as always, with Lucifer. The beginning and end. The endless middle. Always Lucifer.

Morning star. Light bearer. Son of the morning. You could see God’s radiance in Lucifer’s silver face. All the angels were a glistening silver, but Lucifer was brilliant in all senses of the word. No other angel held so much of God’s love; no other angel exuded such life and creativity and joy. Lucifer winged overhead and fields of daisies turned their single yellow eyes to follow. Rainbows bent their arc to be closer to him.

That was all it had been for eons, occasional flyover glimpses, and then he landed in her field.

“So pretty,” he said, reaching into her basket for a lily.

She felt violated. No one had ever reached into her basket before.

He held the sleek green stem up and twirled it in his fingers. “So pretty,” he repeated, and she suddenly understood he was speaking about her.

Her flat nymphet stomach. Soft thighs. The nubs on her chest that would never grow into breasts. The moist place between her legs.

Baphomet hadn’t ever known she had a moist place between her legs. That nubs had a possibility of becoming breasts.

She wanted to hurl herself into his arms, kiss him, be swallowed up by him, make love to him.

“Only white?” he said, still twirling the lily.

“Yes. No,” she stammered. “They’re for garlands.

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