Golden tongue and blood-red flesh. Gold-shining syrup flowing from its words, miraculously flowing from its eyes and out the corner of its mouth.

It doesn't stop looking. Witnessing. Emanating love and purity through its eyes. 

1:7 "Proseúkhomai se séna, gia na mporṓ na dikaiṓsō méros tēs thusías sou."

1:8 "Óti ē dúnamē pou dínei sta ouránia sṓmata tēn armonía tous..."

1:9 "Kai to skhédio pou dínei stē zōḗ tē theïkḗ tēs morphḗ..."

I pray to You to render justice to part of Your sacrifice.

That the power which gives to celestial bodies their harmony.

And the plan that gives life its divine form.

She's staggering, the room is closing in on her, she can't breathe, she knows what it is to be strung up  before a bright light, she is one she is many she is whoel.

Comfort. The angel has become more like its former, idealized self, less like its earthly self. Less bound to Earth and the material world. A hand is extended by someone, somewhere, in aid, in support, in kindness.

1:10 "Tha bretheí na katalḗgei se éna sunkekriméno skhḗma."

1:11 "An ē kalosúnē to epithumeí na to epitrépsei;"

1:12 "As sunkentrōthoún dúo se éna gia állē mia phorá;"

It will be found that it results in a specific figure.

If it is pleasing Goodness to grant it to be so.

Let two gather again into one.

Breathe in, breathe out, the strings of the world around her made visible. Hand in un- no, truly lovable, truly loved hand, the concept of divinity surrounding her like the snuggest of silk blankets, sheathed in the light of a warm summer's afternoon.

The light consumes consciousness. Or, rather, occupies it; Local substance begins to very slightly fray, structures relaxing to allow more light to flow through.

1:13 "Aphḗste ta astéria na sunkroustoún se mia ékrēxē ieroú phōtós."

There is nothing else but the Voice and the Light. There is nothing to be heard that is not heard, or touched that is not felt.

Never ask an angel for a prayer.

Let the stars collide in sacred light.

In her defense, she didn't ask for a prayer. In her damnation (blessing?), she did very much say yes. It's hard to feel regret when gripped in the throes of ecstatic divine madness, though.

They're caught in the bliss of a miracle, surrendered to the flow of divine. The angel isn't quite lost in it, or at least not in free-fall; to an angel or saint, the prayer consciousness brings an aware, ecstatic lucidity. It touches Electra's hand, golden ichor sticking and flowing with a tingling burn, dripping.

The angel closes its eyes.

Niki squeezes the acolyte's hand lightly, eyes fading as they open. Another hand goes up to wipe at her lips and anoint the other's forehead.

"A prayer is also a promise to God. You understand?"

She smiles.

She nods, faintly and from so very far away. "I … don't think I quite grasped the gravity or the extent until this moment. I understand now." Her hands hover over the other's wrist, almost touching it to hold it in the sacred offering space twixt her clasped palms.

Niki laughs, for just a moment, loud and joyful, the sound of cheering crowds through ringing crystal glass.

"Not a single mind has ever grasped the full significance of prayer."

She comes closer, hair moving in ways not quite real, moved by the light.

She comes very close. And she whispers, like a hymn pouring out of her lips and onto Electra's:

"But I'm glad to have given you some shard of it."

She's so very, very beautiful, like the shadow of a great oracular contraption of golden gears and silver linkages moving with purpose behind a screen, and her breath tickles Electra's lips with the flavors of frankincense and myrrh. She stands entranced for a moment, then moves closer, purposeful, their lips almost touching, and

LIGHT and SOUND of a different kind smash into their crystal, shining moment. Pain, blind, ringing, deaf. Prayers are screamed away and the smell of incense is replaced with woodsmoke and burnt tires. The two are overtaken by a flurry of shouting bodies and gloved hands, held by the neck and arms as they're pushed to the ground. A task force of military police and fledgling angel operatives, zip ties and iron brands in hand.

Oh yeah. They're on a military base during some kind of lockdown. She had almost forgotten.

A sizzling hiss. A scream. A pain at the back of the head. Darkness.