An Angel's Love- A Fairytale

An Angel's Love

Copyright GothPrincess Monday 15th December 2008

One Christmas, long ago, there lived a beautiful angel called Lizabelle. Although she was as delicate and gorgeous as a butterfly's wing, she was an outcast amongst the others of her kind. This was because of her fascination with humans. All the other angels thought her strange and abnormal to take such an interest in these flightless creatures, but Lizabelle paid them no heed. One ice frosted day when snow embraced the earth, Lizabelle flew gracefully down into a wintery forest. At first she could see no signs of life, only twisted trees with skeletal branches.

However, just as she was beginning to grow weary and cold from her search she stumbled across a teenage boy cutting wood for his father. The boy had snow coloured skin and hair. He almost looked angelic himself, only his back was free of the burden of wings. When he saw Lizabelle he dropped his axe and fell to his knees with his hands clasped togther in respect. 'Oh, divine angel of God, please grant me a single wish,' he cried out to her. 'My mother is sick and I believe she is

dying. I beg of you to heal her. It is the only thing I request this Christmas Eve.' Lizabelle, touched by the care he showed for his mother, touched the boy lightly on the forehead. At once he knew the deed was done. Bowing his head gratefully, he turned to leave her, but she placed one flawless hand on his arm. She had fallen in love with the boy the moment she set eyes on him. 'Boy,' she said sweetly. 'What is your name?' 'I have no name,' he replied sadly. 'My parents and I live alone in this forest, so they simply call me

Son.' Lizabelle smiled innocently at him, misunderstanding the use of the word. 'Sun,' Lizabelle repeated. 'Do not sound so unhappy, boy. To be named after the largest star in the heavens is a blessing, not a curse.'

Laughing together in peaceful happiness, the odd pair walked together along a deserted forest path. They talked earnestly of clouds and stars and eventually love and they found they had much in common with each other despite their differences. At the end of the day they paused quietly outside Sun's cottage to say goodbye. It was then Lizabelle noticed the mistletoes hanging above the doorway. Her eyes glittered in silent mirth. 'As a parting gift, I shall give you a kiss,' she told him, and she did, gently. Then she was gone, soaring into the sapphire sky with a light heart.

For months Sun dreamt about her, mourning that single day of heaven spent with Lizabelle. She had promised she would return next Christmas. But over time the agony in his heart grew so strong he could no longer bear the pain. When their meeting day came, Sun took his father's hunting night wretched in the belief Lizabelle had forgotten him long ago.. Shortly after, the angel fluttered down from heaven drunk with love for her precious Sun.

To her dismay she could not find him anywhere in the entire forest. She sifted through tons of feathery white snow until eventually she came across a frozen river. As soon as the toe of her frail foot touched the icy surface she knew something was wrong. For right in the middle of the river lay the body of Sun, the knife lodged in his heart. Lizabelle ran to his side and tried in vain to breathe life into his lifeless

corpse, but she was far too late. 'Lizabelle. . .' a voice murmured. She looked up with tearfilled eyes to see Sun's spirit beside her. His face was filled with the pain only lovers can understand. Then he vanished, leaving her her to bear her sorrow alone.

Now she truly understood why angels did not mingle with humans. They, unlike she and her kin, were not immortal. Before now she had never suffered the agonies of lost love and now she had it twisted her heart so hard she could only weep uncontrollably.

All the the angels looked upon her in pitiless contempt. Poor little broken Lizabelle, they whispered sarcastically. But she did not hear them within her dark, desolate world. She continued to sob, dusted with snowflakes, while the cold finger of Death slipped down her spine. Thus was the curse of an angel's love. . .