Chapter 5 His to Torment

Dione obeyed, perching on the edge of the cushion. Curiosity brewed within her because how often did a person get to sit across from a being who had watched stars be born?

"How many of the Fallen are there?"

The question tumbled out of her mouth yet again before she could stop herself.

Ephemiel eyed her for a brief moment. "Fifteen. Excluding me."

"Wow." She shifted farther forward. "Is it true you understand every language ever spoken? And that you can shapeshift and…"

"Enough." He cut in, his expression hardening. "You are not here to interrogate me; you are here to serve," He said firmly. "Just because I offered you a seat does not grant you the permission to speak out of turn."

Dione shut her mouth, turning red as she sank back into the chair.

"I'm sorry," she muttered in a small voice. Ephemiel studied her in the silence that followed. His gaze moved slowly over the oversized black hoodie that swallowed her slim frame, and the way she shrank deeper into it.

He noticed the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, the dark kohl that failed to hide the anxiousness in her eyes.

He saw it all.

The hunched posture, the constant urge to make herself smaller, the unspoken belief that she took up too much space simply by existing.

"Why did you offer your soul so easily for your sister?" Ephemiel asked, his voice mild.

"Because I love her." She replied immediately, avoiding his eyes. "She…"

A pause ensued for a brief moment.

…is everything you're not. Her mind whispered.

"She didn't deserve to die like that," Dione muttered instead.

Ephemiel's eyes narrowed. "That is not the whole truth," he said quietly.

Dione kept mute.

"You did not just offer yourself because you love her," he continued, "You did it because you believe you are useless."

Silence hung in the air.

"Because in your quiet, dark little life, you have already decided that you matter less than the dirt beneath your…" his eyes dropped to her feet. "...boot," he finished.

"You think the world would not notice if you vanished. And so you traded a life you deemed worthless for one you deemed precious."

Ephemiel leaned forward, his green eyes boring holes into her face. "I see you, little mortal. More clearly than you see yourself."

Dione's nerves raged. His words had upset her. She wanted to deny it aloud, or better yet, disappear into the velvet of the chair. The accusation, humiliatingly true as it was, had made her feel so bare and ashamed that she sought to shift the attention away from herself.

Despite his warning earlier, she spoke anyway.

"When I read about the second rebellion… about how God cast you out of Heaven… I always imagined you and the others living in pain and misery," she said. "But you live like kings here."

The sudden switch in Ephemiel's mood was terrifying. His green eyes flashed with fury, and the temperature in the room immediately dropped.

"I could crush the breath from your lungs with a thought and leave your sister to rot in the grave you tried so desperately to steal her from. Do not test how merciful I feel today."

Dione cowered, her heart slamming so hard against her ribcage that she felt it would escape.

Her fingers dug into the hem of her hoodie until her knuckles ached.

She couldn't look away from him, even as every instinct screamed at her to do so.

Ephemiel held her gaze for one long moment before the storm in his expression suddenly eased.

He drew a slow breath, running a hand through his beautiful hair.

"Humans got it wrong," he said in a clipped tone. "It was never a rebellion."

He left it there, offering nothing more.

The silence that followed was filled with secrets he had no intention of sharing.

Dione gulped hard. She had pushed too far. And some part of her already feared she would not be able to stop herself from doing it again. One way or the other, she was going to find out the true story of the second rebellion.

"Tell me," Ephemiel began again, leaning forward, "what do your kind believe caused this so-called 'second rebellion'?"

Dione shrugged. "One version believes you saw sense in Lucifer's defiance and tried to start another war. But you lost."

"Oh, really?" He seemed very amused, crossing one leg over the other with grace. "You fancy yourself a historian, do you not? Then do not feed me some vague, watered-down summary; I want the entire account." A tight smile slithered across his face. "Give me every detail… every distortion your kind has woven around the truth."

Dione found it funny that he was so entertained by humanity's version of his own downfall.

"Well, according to the most popular accounts I've studied," Dione began carefully, "after Lucifer's fall, Heaven needed a new Light Bearer — someone to stand closest to the Creator."

Ephemiel gave a single, slow nod, his expression unreadable.

"That role fell to you," she continued. "You were the most radiant, the most favored among the remaining hosts. And that is why they call you The Second Light." Dione paused for a second. "For a time, you served faithfully. But something changed."

She watched his face closely. The lazy amusement in his green eyes remained, but his fingers had begun to drum a slow rhythm against the arm of the velvet chair.

"The texts vary on the details, but one version appears more often than the others," she said, her voice quieter now. "You desired something God would not allow. Something on earth, perhaps. So you rebelled…You and those loyal to you. And God cast you out of Heaven into this realm to be utterly alone."

The amusement on Ephemiel's face had drained away completely, leaving something cold and dangerously still.

"Judging by your reaction," Dione continued. "I take it that isn't what happened?"

Ephemiel's jaw tightened. Then he rose abruptly from the velvet chair. "No," he said roughly. "It was not."

Dione's stomach twisted. She must've struck a nerve.

"Come," he commanded. "I must present you to the others."

She stood, suddenly terrified all over again. "W-why? Is that necessary?"

Ephemiel cast a cool glance over his shoulder. "Not every Fallen is as… restrained as I am. You are mine to torment, Wasp. I intend to make that abundantly clear before one of them gets any ideas."

Good Lord. She was in for an eternity of suffering.

Dione let out a shaky breath and followed him down the sweeping staircase once more. They returned to the grand double doors where she had first encountered Rok and Dhuraval.

When they reached them, Dione froze.

The thought of facing more of these ancient, hungry beings made her blood run cold. She wasn't sure she was ready for whatever lay beyond.

Ephemiel turned back with a frown, gazing down at her. "Do not make me drag you."

Swallowing hard, Dione forced herself forward on trembling legs.

When Ephemiel pushed the heavy doors open with one powerful hand, a gasp escaped Dione's lips, and she clapped both hands over her mouth in astonishment.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her.

A full-blown orgy was happening in the vast hall.

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