by Mahalia Levey
I’ve had an avid fascination with fallen angels since I was a teenager. There was just something profound to me about their history and the paths to destruction that led them to fall from grace. I mean where we have free will to learn from our mistakes one mistake for them ended their world as they knew it. But what if they had a second chance to make their wrong right? How/If could they earn their wings back? What different wing colors would there be designating their lot in their new life? Lastly, should this new start be possible, would they want to lose their immortality and start over?
I could imagine a world such as Earth but in a different realm where all kinds of species of demons, incubi, succubae and other beings live. I could see the way the river of fire spread from level to level in a series of spider-webbed areas, leeching outward like veins and capillaries keeping a mortal heart beating. I saw a world where good and evil mixed and were only separated by a slight shade of grey. Since then I’ve written demons, incubus males and succubae females, and began to think of a new fallen story. Orias’ story.
A Fallen makes a decision to protect others. This extraordinary man doesn’t brood or blame anyone else for his mistakes. Bitterness doesn’t fill his soul, nor does he cross the divide forfeiting the humanity left in him. We all need a selfless man, a hero like Orias.
If there was an off shot chance that this magnificent hero could find a fork in the road that could lead him to another destiny, I needed to see it happen. Madame Eve though turned my plot into a different story line together by bringing together to lonely souls needing someone to latch onto.
Her eyes flitted over the crowd. She located him in a seat right next to the stage. The intriguing man who’d come in every night for two weeks. She fixed a smile on her cherry-red painted lips and gyrated in front of him, gliding around the pole, the cool steel warming under her palms. Up she inched, higher, her gaze never straying from his. What’s his deal?
She enacted a series of spins, anchoring her hands between her thighs to distribute her weight and display her flexibility. Her underarm locking her in position, she spiraled down the pole. Caileigh enjoyed this part of her job the most, playing on stage, moving to the music, contorting from position to position. Her toned muscles supported her body. Bent upside down, the underside of her knee caressed the cool metal; her arm held the stem of her booted foot. She released her hold to land gracefully on the smooth floor.
She sidled around again and again, offering a smile or a wink, before engaging in a new series of acrobatics. She locked her legs in a side split then flipped to a sitting position to regard the crowd. Too much silence greeted her. Tough group.
She used her upper body strength and slammed to the floor in a center split, her boots clacking, a sonic boom echoing from her landing. Heads snapped in her direction. Caileigh unleashed the naughty vixen in her, performing complex floor work until she rose with grace and sashayed across the stage. Take that, people.
Her second song began, the haunting gothic voices echoing in a series of oohs and ahhs. Swaying to the slower rhythms, she untied her top, baring areolas the color of dark chocolate in contrast to her milk chocolate skin.
Bracing in front of the pole, she worked her floor routine then moved to the edge of the stage to accept bills with a seductive smile, thanking the men with an air peck next to their cheeks. She moved back to center stage, twisting and pirouetting, finishing her set with a single spin around the pole, relishing the cool metal between her thighs. The nameless man’s penetrating gaze fired her blood. No man…no customer had ever affected her as he did.
His gaze made concentration impossible. She’d perfected her series of pole tricks—each with a name only a dancer would know—or she’d have landed on her head. She forced herself to break the stare down…to try to forget his dark brown orbs bordering on obsidian enough to blend in with his pupils. Not once had he spoken to her, queried for a dance. He didn’t have a welcoming presence with his mercenary appearance. Sweat beaded her upper back. The song ended and applause began. Caileigh waved to the growing crowd and headed for the main floor. A shiver wracked her body as she passed him, as if his eyes were boring into her skin.