PROLOGUE

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

I held a little boy’s hand as he died today. I felt his spirit leave the shell of his body to stand beside me. He asked me where we were going, and I told him, “home.” He asked me if his mother could come too, and I told him, “no.” And then he remarked that his mother would not understand. I told him that she would in time.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

I wonder if I am right. Do my charges understand what I am or what I do? Why I do it? Do they understand that I am more than a mere symbol of what comes to them later on? Do they understand that I am not the heartless creature they imagine me to be? Do they understand that I know the pain that their loved ones feel when they come to me as though it were my pain? No. How could they?

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

The Reaper, they call me. Oh yes, I have seen the pictures the artists scratch out with their charcoal and fancy, chromed ink pens. They see me as a monster; a fiendish, grasping, hungry, cold, cruel being that wields a blade to cut them down with. I have heard the tone with which they whisper my name, as though fearful they might call down the wrathful thing they speak of – casting terrified looks heavenward. It has been so since the beginning. I know. I was there.

He restoreth my soul.

My maker says to pity them. “Pity the mortals with their jaded fears and easy corruption,” she says. “They know nothing else. They feel you, the presence of that which they cannot see, and it alerts them to things that they cannot comprehend. This frightens them, my child. You must pity them for their inability to understand you and your element.” But though I do not scorn them for their fears, nor do I pity them. I envy them.

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.

Cold, they call me…cruel. Cruel that I see to it that they receive something that I will never have? Cold because I do not shed tears upon every frozen hand that I touch when I bid their soul to walk with me? Hungry…hungry, I do hunger. But not for what they seem to think I do. I am not the monster they deem me to be. I do not feast upon the souls I reap. No, I hunger for what the mortals were gifted with since the dawn of their race.

Yet, though He bid me walk through the valley of the shadow of death…

My kindred are a loving species by nature, unless turned to the way the first of us took. We feel compassion, tenderness, pity, sincerity, peace, and fondness for the mortals we supervise and guide. But these feelings are never more than that of a guardian. A guide and a helpful, comforting presence in everyday life. Sometimes one of us will fall for committing a crime against our maker, but these crimes are only ever severe if punished, for our maker is kind and understanding. Only for the very worst of sins are we cast from the heavens, our home, to dwell in the shadows of hell. The last to see damnation, I believe, was a guardian named Azazel.

I will fear no evil: For thou art with me.

Azazel knew the allure the mortal world holds for our kind stronger than most. He was drawn by the simple pleasures that human life holds. He lost control – engaged in intimate physical contact with a mortal woman, and he paid for it with his wings. Heaven has not seen him for over thirty-thousand mortal years.

Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

Hungry they call me. I do not deny this. I cannot lie and say that I do not envy the human race their ability to feel a love other than one of guardianship. Mortals have no idea how wonderful their existence is. I have come to believe that the gift they have received from the Almighty is one beyond their comprehension. Even the church, with their boasts of absolute piety, does not think to truly examine their so-called “sins.” Never pausing to think that the process of reproduction was made to be the way it is for a reason. It is…frustrating. I want only what I will most likely never have.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

I am (in rough definition of the term) immortal. I have watched countless centuries pass, hundreds of styles and form of days begin and end. I have escorted millions upon millions of souls to their final dwelling place – dragged kicking and screaming for mercy, silent and resigned alike. But I have never once, not once in all my long existence, known what love is like. I do not mean the maternal care of a mother or the friendly companionship of a brother. This I have in unending quantity. What I want cannot be so easily received. I want to feel the affection I see lovers show one another. I want to feel the warmth of a fire that will never die burning within this accursed heart, if it must feel at all. I want to feel life, the weight of another soul tied to mine, the comfort of another body beside mine. Everything…

Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

And now I have a confession to make. Not to one of the priests…no priest shall ever hear the words, “forgive me, I have sinned,” fall from my tongue. But to eternity. To my brothers and sisters, and to my maker herself. I have lost my head completely…surrendered my purity of mind and soul to the thoughts of mortal men. I have fallen in love with a woman. A woman of such gentle nature and grace that she tugs at my heartstrings without even the knowledge or intention of doing so. I have known her since her birth, drawn to her with interest in her timid feeling and shunned world. And now I admit that my original paternal feelings have warped dramatically into such desire as I have never known before. I find myself longing to take her into my arms, embrace her lovely body against me, taste the youth and innocence of her sweet lips, touch her, and love her.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

I am both ashamed and thrilled to feel as I do. It is…alarming to have such a potent emotion rise within me, and I am unsure of what to do. I want nothing more than to devote myself to her protection and happiness…but she is such a cautious thing, I fear to frighten her. She is not one to easily fall to a man’s charm or simple words of undying love, so I have no choice but to show myself. I will do what I can to earn her trust…to earn her love, as I love her. And if she cannot, then so be it. I will take the risk that is involved. Gentle Lilith, my heart is yours. Do what you please with it; cradle it or crush it, whichever you will. So long as I may have the pleasure of just once looking into your eyes and hearing your voice directed at me, I will live in peace again.

And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.