January 22-30, 2018
I had a writing phase around age 14 during which I typed up half a fantasy novel and many other unfinished stories. The second half is always much, much harder, isn’t it?
One of the unfinished stories was more or less finished in my head—it was about someone who’d fallen in love with an angel, but for them to be together he must become an angel. This ruffled a lot of feathers among the sky folk, who did not like the idea of an earth-man becoming an angel. They agreed to conduct the ancient angel-making ritual where they cut two grooves in his back with their magic knife and left him kneeling in the fancy marble sky chamber in his own blood. Instead of dying as the angel rulers expected, he began sprouting small ugly wings. Spoilers: it did not end well.
Seraphima is my new take on my old idea—thanks, past self!