PolyProse

There was once a mountain, unknown to man but cherished by time. At its heart was a cave, and all around stretched a vast desert. One day, the moon devoured the sun. Beneath the eclipse, two beings were born. Within the cave, appeared an angel. He had wings, but no sky. He had light but no dawn. Within the desert rose a demon. It had a million faces but no head. It had function without form.

The angel watched as the demon fled from the sun. It scoured the dunes, hiding in sandstone ruins, ever seeking shade. When night fell, the demon neared the cave. But the angel had learned the demon’s nature and so lit a fire. The demon ran from the cavern, yet it clutched the angel’s ankles with stretched arms.

By day, the demon traveled the land, and by night, he stalked the cave, waiting for the opportunity to enter. Each night the demon came, though the angel never left his cavern. The angel grew restless beneath their unequal accord. And so, one morning, the angel stretched his wings. At dawn, he left his cave, and for the first time, he flew. His feathers shook in fierce winds, and he understood what it meant to be an angel. He neared the sun to bask in its divine warmth. However, beneath the clouds was the demon. It sped towards the angel like a black tempest.

The angel plummeted, shattering against the cold stone of his cave. His skin ripped, and light bled from his wounds. But the angel paid them no mind. He only wept once he noticed his wings. The bones had broken, and his feathers scattered at his feet. He tried to flap them once more, but they fell from his back like brittle stone off a cliff’s face. The angel wept, and the demon watched. It laughed in whispers of forgotten fables, for it had learned the angel’s true nature.

The following night, the angel lit his flame. He wiped his tears and watched the shadows on the wall. But his cave had run out of fuel. The fire weakened, and the demon crept closer. In his desperation, he grabbed a handful of feathers. The angel had no choice but to throw them into the flame. His flesh burned, and embers filled the night. The fire swelled before exploding into a blaze. The demon fled, and against the cave walls appeared the form of a woman.

Her hair shimmered like rays of light, and her skin glowed like hot coals. The angel watched as the woman danced along the walls. Where she stepped, the shadows fled. She moved like ash in desert winds. She was weightless, and her beauty was timeless. The angel forgot about the desert. He spent every moment in his cave watching the woman of light spill across the walls. He traced her silhouette on the stone so that he could rest beside her. He watched until she grew pale and slow. He would then offer a slice from his wings. The blaze would awaken, and there she appeared, spinning and beckoning the angel to join her.

After many nights, the angel held up his last feather. With teary eyes, he dropped it into the flame. His love appeared, and he placed his hand against her light. However, she did not dance. She fled deeper into the cave. The angel followed, curious where she would go. They ventured farther than he ever had before. The rough walls became unfamiliar, and as his feather burned, his love grew dull. Before dawn, they reached their destination. The woman rested against the gates of hell. She smiled like the final note of a hymn, then thinned, fading as though she had never been more than smoke. All that remained was her shadow upon stone.

The angel traced her form as it flickered against the gates. But when he turned, the demon was there, faceless and vast, holding his last burning feather like a coal of hatred. The angel saw then that the woman was never light but only a shadow, cast by an angel’s fire, born of a demon’s desire.

And as the feather crumbled into ash, the angel spoke to his twin:

“If you are the truest form, am I prisoner to shadow, or is it through shade that a sage escapes?”

This parable is inspired by Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.