In The Beginning

From the Story Arc: Phoenyx Rising

Next Story in the Arc: Catalyst, prt. 1 by John Murdock (Wednesday, June 01, 2005)

(posted Tuesday, May 17, 2005)

Some say that the Universe began with a Bang; some that it was created by the essence, in one way or another, of some deity. Some say it began with a void and some in darkness. Some that it has always been here, and some that it has always been an illusion.

They are all right, of course. The Universe is too large a thing to be contained in a single vision created by a tiny mortal brain.

However the Universe began, she began with it, the handmaid of the Protector, the Defender, one might say, the original Hero, whom some call the Archangel Michael.. He has many handmaidens, many servants, and she was but one. One that shared his cuiousity about the doings of mortals, one who studied their thoughts and pondered their ways as the long years spiraled past. One who, when her master chose to investigate mortality, once upon a time, by donning a quasi-mortal form, pondered that decision too.

A Thought traveled through the seraphic realm, that it would be Good if one of the immortal took flesh, a new kind of flesh, a little less mortal than before. There was a mission to undertake, it seemed. Fifty thousand could dance on the head of a pin, but only one stepped forth and said, "Let it be me."

On a bright, spring day, at a moment when, contrary to all known laws of the universe, the plaza beneath the statue of Altas was completely empty.

Until the air shimmered with furtive heat, and there was a sigh, and a Word, and a dance of flame.

And she was there. "Born" knowing, of course, exactly what she must do. She was mortal and a potential hero; there were forms to folow. The minutiae of mortal life. Papers to file. Existance to register, for without paperwork in this subdivision of the Universe, one did not exist.

She pondered this last, as she had pondered so many things of mortals over the millenia. Words were power; once she committed herself to a word, a name, there would be no going back.

Still; what would be the point of turning back? She set her hand to the document.

Name if demanded.

She wrote.

Seraphic Flame.