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Seraphiel stood off in the distance, looking down at the vast gently rolling expanses of herdland that he had once called home, and reflected. He had been doing that a lot lately. Nowadays there was a lot more to think about.
He'd been through so much -- persecuted in his childhood, adolescence, and even young adulthood for his uncanny appearance, six wings and all, and the kalona blood that tainted the angeni purity in his veins. He had struggled with his identity, his herd, and his perspectives on his parents. Found his first love, then lost her, only to discover later that they had children together. He sought comfort and solace in the embrace of another, then another, and yet another, one lover after the other, trying to fill the gap in his heart. With many, he had parted on good terms, but there had always been something he was looking for, always something he had been missing.
Now fully grown, he took both his lovers and his fatherly duties much more seriously. He dearly loved all his sons and daughters. In his heart, he was still haunted by the guilt of not being a present father for his oldest children, particularly his daughter Absinthe, who had not adjusted to the cruel ways of the world as well as her siblings.
But in this way, too, things were different. It seemed that nowadays, the lands of the Kawani were touched by magic more than they had been in his youth. The veil between this world and the next now seemed perpetually thin, and where his own wings -- and those of his children -- had been a bizarre trait, one that marked the bloodline of their father, and grandfather, and his father, there were now many angeni who looked like his own flesh and blood. While it wasn't common, it was no longer something to be feared. His younger children had been spared the harsher treatment he had faced as a colt -- not from his own family or his herd, the Primrose and Hope herd, but from the strangers that had been passing by. Seraphiel smiled to himself. He had always been able to count on his family. He deeply regretted not appreciating them in his younger -- and quite frankly, dumber -- years.
And, Seraphiel mused to himself, it seems the spirits are much more in tune with soquili-kind. There were those who could see ghosts, and those whose bodies seemed undead, with exposed bone or organs or perpetually bleeding, yet they were among the living.
It was this Seraphiel thought about, on that fateful moonlit night, when the veil between the worlds was indeed the thinnest, and the magic of Allhallowtide coursed in a powerful current through all beings that drew breath...
...And, perhaps, some who didn't.
Seraphiel Word Count: 470
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