“Pick a card,” it cried out. There was a petulant quality to the voice, like a child that had never grown up. So it went, day after day. The circus came to town, once, and never left.
The laughter, high-pitched and incessant, was worse. If he had ever had a sense of humor, it was gone now, worn down by years of this torture.
He kept peddling, kept performing. Even when it closed the lid on his box, submerging him in darkness. He didn’t want to make it angry again.
To clip the wings of an ophanim, one must be exceedingly careful. Their wings are not true wings; they permeate their bodies entirely. An ophanim without wings is no more alive than a chunk of celadon, for the wings are the body.
To extract the offal of a cherubim, merely read their true intentions. They are nervous creatures, easy to exploit. When forced to confront their own dishonesty, they will sag with the weight of their own heads. At this point it is safe to vivisect them, as their bodies are vacant of all virtue.
To abash the holiness of a seraph takes the mildest of trenchancy. Anyone can, with the right application of blasphemy, bring low even the highest order of angel. When their shine grows greatest, fear not. They are only trying to discourage you. The weaker creatures will try to salvage the kingdom, but you will have already won.
“You only have to hold it still. I do all the work. We’ve done this before.”
“I want more from life then snakes, sister.”
“Then give me only as much of your time as I gave you, sister.”
“See how it moves! It sees us and the jaws of death that move in to bite.”
“Which of us has the deadly jaws, sister? Yours are the words that sting with every strike.”
“I work honestly. You offer only snake oil.”
“Every part of the snake is valuable. You dismiss what you don’t understand.”
“Reason is all we have, sister.”
“No room left for love?”
“I have changed too much to love you.”
“Of course. I understand. I have a face only a mother could love.”
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