Inkdipped-feathers - A Formerly Divine Kinblog

Magical Madeira, Portugal

michaelkagerer

Ancient realm

michael.paramonti

Crow stimboard with themes of trinkets and witchcraft

For @justalexisfine

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theyre pinning my wings to a cork board tomorrow

Cig Harvey, Petunias, 2020

Found a picrew that I could make a more accurate imitation of my visage than most, though it does paint me a bit too feminine. All things considered, I'm glad that's the only thing that feels too inaccurate.

On the left is a fairly accurate portrayal of how I looked without my veil. Usually my veil covered my eyes, so all that was visible were my nose and mouth. My kind all had long, straight hair, and our skin was extremely pale and fragile. I believe the headpiece was a sort of formal attire used when going to speak to our Creator, and other important scenarios. I'm not sure if I ever had jewlery, but I feel that necklace is what it'd look like if I did.

On the right is, again, a fairly accurate portrayal of how I looked without my veil. I didn't wear it always, but I had a black veil covering my nose and mouth. I believe I wore it when meeting new/important beings. I remember having dark/soft robes that I wore -perhaps a cloak- that had an opening for my wings. I always wore white face paint, especially the dots under my eyes. On occasion I'd change the markings on my forehead.

Had a dream of an old woman. Her home was dark and made of wood, and the air was full of the smell of rain. She had white hair, and the wrinkles on her face danced as she smiled her millionth smile, looking at me with soft eyes. As if we were old friends, reminiscing on older times. She hands me a well-loved child's toy. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy or intricate. It was a simple doll, made of old simple fabric, with a kind simple expression. Its hair was made of yarn, and it was small in her thin hands, which had held countless other things. But those hands held this doll so preciously, so gently- like a young babe; precious, and loved with the full capacity of the human heart. And she hands it to me. Places it gently in my hands, saying not a word, that expression unwavering. She was showing it to me, sharing the decades of memories and love stored inside every fraying thread.

The fire is a comfortable warmth for the woman, despite her gentle body being easily chilled. The rain thudded against the old wood of her home, which gave it's life for her to continue her own- and, in a way, she gave it a new one. A life it would've never known otherwise. And so they took care of each other. And I took care of them.

She calls me a strange name, one of the many I've been called- one of the many that had been forgotten as generations had come and gone. I say her name in a tongue I do not recognize, though it passes by my lips easily. It is not the first, nor the last time I have said this name. I am one of the few who remembers it.

I gently put the doll among the other things she has given to me over the years, all holding an amount of love only a human could carry, and I cherish them all. She lights candles that she made herself, dyed green for the forest I so dearly love. I stare at them a while, watching the flames flicker gently, tilted slightly in my direction.

As I look around the home, tend to the fire and make sure the home is steady, the woman sits in the chair her son made for her, gazing out at the rain. We both know this will be her last storm, and so I do not bother her. Only keep my presence nearby. She may take her time, enjoy the world a few moments longer. Enjoy the world for as many moments as she may wish.

I held her hand and shared with her memories of when she was young. Of when she first said my name, and when she first offered me a little flower crown she made, to her mother's delight. I shared with her memories of her children, and her children's children- and of the children who've yet to come. Her family is all in good health, and happy.

She hopes, with a smile, that her passing does not interrupt that.

It will, but only for a moment. They will learn to be happy, because she would want them to be. And so they will, and they will do so with all their hearts. She will remind them just how important happiness is.

She rests, then. And I stay until the candles' flame dies out one last time.

ketzal_coatl

Pagan angelkin here, responding somewhat to the confession by the Christian angelkin, but also more general thoughts. I understand anon was trying to sort out feelings and genuinely trying to understand, but it really rubbed me the wrong way as a wingless, non-Christian angel.

Honestly, speaking as a former Christian, this is kind of why the community is averse to Christianity. A lot of Christian people, while claiming to support others, also have the underlying holier-than-thou attitude or belief that the people acting or believing non-Christian are "disrespectful" even though they themselves don't actually have as much knowledge about their own religion to make that claim.

Now, speaking as someone who has studied Christian theology and angelology from a historical and cultural anthropological lens, technically you can also say the winged humanoids of modern Christianity "aren't angels". Why? Because angels in the Bible actually don't have wings.

They had no described appearance prior to the creation of humanity, and afterwards, are described to look no different from humans. The portrayal of winged angels came much later in Christianity's history, after adopting Greek motifs such as the wings of the gods Nike or Hermes. "Angel" as a word even came from this, from the Greek "angelos" meaning "messenger".

In line with this, the nine choirs of angels don't have full basis in the Bible; Christian theologians to this day actually still argue whether the wheels from the book of Ezekiel are even considered angels.

My point isn't that certain beings aren't angels of course. It's that even Christians have an ever-changing view towards angels. What is a "real angel" to you isn't a "real angel" to another culture or even to another denomination of Christianity. "Angel" etymologically just means a messenger or servant spirit of a god.

Winged angels, wingless angels, animalistic angels, non-humanoid angels, non-Christian hierarchy angels? All valid.

Because throughout human history, nobody truly knows what angels are. And that's how it's meant to be, that we are incomprehensible and never fully grasped by human minds.

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