I sneak around Venice trying to look for the perfect victim. Someone to sink my arrow into. I sigh, letting my Mary Janes dangle off the bridge. Bow in hand, movements reflecting on the dark water of the canal, I wait. Just one, I think. One couple in love.
Its the perfect time; eight on a mild spring evening. I watch the doors of the Opera house open and a stream off humans roll down the imposant staircase. Bored, I chew on my apple, then toss the leftovers into the water. Crouching on the balustrade, feet on the wet stone. A soft drizzle rain falls and forms puddles on the narrow alleys as if there isn't enough water around us. It's getting colder now and I'm kind of mad. At least loveboi isn't here.
Yet.
A shadow on light feet lands on the bone white roof of the Opera house. I sigh. Got excited too early. I watch him shake out his wheat blond curls and smile up at the sky as if the rain is some sort of wet confetti. Arnor is indeed a weird guy.
It is the love angels custom to wear tacky golden and white vests over Greek, white, toga style dresses the male angels desperately claim are not gowns when they totally are. With a slit to show a leg and all. They have copper laurel in their unusually silky hair and even on a day of gassy stomachea, the air around them has the soft scent of Jasmin and parchment (or so they claim).
I watch some of the angel students sit down on a theater building nearby, crowding the roof as dots of white and curly hair. If you squint, they could pass for doves. Giggling doves. Most of them are girls but Amor even has male admirers of his work. I can see Amors chin, vaguely turning into their direction. He pretends not to see them, of course. In his dimpled chin, the dimple deepens and the corners of his mouth roll upwards, as a winning smile dares to reveal itself on his sculpted, tan face. Of course he pretends he's actually smiling down at the couples and groups of friends who float down the stairs in festive evening wear. The crowd is how I like them the most; some are bored to death by the hour long synergy of ear piecing singing and some have their cheeks glowing with the enlightenment of true art and they feel a rush of inspiration, eager to share what they saw. Humans are strange beings, really. Quite frankly their music sounds atrocious. But they seem to enjoy and hate it to such equal parts that it intrigues me; When angels make music, most of the angels of their group will agree that it's pleasant. Some may stand out as exceptionally talented but their tastes don't vary. Humans have oddly low standards for the noise they surround themselves with.
If they ever heard an angels harp they would probably give birth on the spot and name their baby Mozart.
I'm not sure how they can endure their own boring lifes. I watch Amor, glancing down at them, leaning one hand on a revealed, muscular tigh, turning and twisting his body in a way that forms a perfect curve of his waist, the perfect angle for the angels on the theater roof to admire the profile of his square jaw. I can hear a few angel girls sigh from their lookout.
I roll my eyes and crouch closer towards the plaza, watching them from half closed eyes. I'm turning the bow in my hands, eager to shoot. Is Goldilocks about to target someone or not? My feet are clumps of ice and and my mood is slowly turning sour. I let out a drawn out sigh of exasperation, my black hair covering my face like a curtain as I have a mini anger attack in the nook of my own elbows.
When I resurface from my self made body cave, the scene on the plaza has changed; armor is confidently strutting over the triangular Roman roof, and making a show out of it. He's sliding down the last few inches towards the end, causing fearful gasps (as if he doesn't have a set of very healthily developed, plushy white wings) then he disappears behind the edge with more shocked gasps echoing from the theater building. Amor dangles from the opera roof and smirks at his fans, blowing them an air kiss.
I stare at him in boredom, chewing the last few inches of apple inside my mouth. It's so sour I want to do a happy dance. I'm not as happy about Amor. Can he get on with his work? The thing is, I have to wait until the angel class and their star are gone. They always show up to places like these, rooms or city squares that are full of lovers, to pair up everyone that is still single. Glorifying singles is easier when love is around. They can basically shoot a couple of white arrows and mass enamour whole groups of humans. It's disgusting behaviour!
The upside is, I have more to destroy once they've left. Because once my arrow hits - the red and black arrow, destruction and delicious chaos follow, turning everybody's hearts black and leaving debris in it's wake... It's how I like it. I enjoy pain. A lot.
People only say red is the color of love because that damn Greek writer man who first saw my great grandgrandgrandgrandgrandmother at work confused her for a love angel when she shot her arrow and when he explained the concept of romance to humans he made love red. Love's actually whitem It's a forgivable mistake; My kin is rather rare. And we stay hidden.
I grit my teeth when I watch Amor dangling back and forth, flexing his strength as he swings back so far, that he flips over. He then clings to the edge of the opera roof by his ankles. He winks at a girl in fedora who notices him from below and she blushes a deep crimson. Then he pulls out his small white bow - pfft, the love angels have such tiny equipment - and the girls dark eyes widen. I watch her as her mouth opens like that of a fish on the dry as she assumes terror, where there is, well, terror.
She is quite right in her assessment of the crazy dude dangling of a roof. Sadly I'm the only one here who thinks so.
"Hmph" I lean onto my elbows, sitting in a lotus seat with my large bow peeking out between my arms.
Armor aims and shoots the girl, who gets hit with a tiny white cloud of pouf before she can even scream. She freezes up, standing there with glossed over eyes under black rimmed glasses. Open mouthed, her pale hands are dangling by her dark purple glitter dress. No fight in her.
Who is he pairing her up with? Ah, I think I spot the other target.
A guy is sitting on the steps with his back to the opera house, looking like he thoroughly hated the evening. I almost laugh because he actually looks fun to me. Hateful humans are interesting. He's leaning on his elbows, similarly to me, but he has an open book on the black velvet of his pants. He's in a white button down and a single intensely red poppy is peeking out from a chest pocket, almost like a drop of blood contrasting against his shirt. His dark brown hair is fashionably disheveled and falls into his forehead, green eyes also behind a pair of sleek half sized, frameless glasses. He has a narrow face and a deep frown that some might describe as dreamy.
Above him, Amor grins, whitish blond curls falling all around his lopsided head and he shoots another arrow.
The boy with the book gasps for air, also like a fish on the dry. He grabs his chest pocket like the poppy pricked him and looks around. His eyes lock with the girls and they both seem surprised to see the other. Yuck. Pause. I'm going to throw up for real.
But Amors work is not done. He masterfully, artfully even, swings himself back onto the roof, only to wave and repeat his little stunt with two other couples.
The students on the theater roof are in awe. They sit in four rows, 4x6 like a chocolate bar, eyes moving with the blonde poser in fabric gown.
A rhythm of stupefied "Ah"'s and "Oh"'s coos from their roof. Look like doves, sound like pigeons.
I shake my head at them and ponder wether to shoot some arrows at them just for the thrill but the legend says my arrows kill not just love, but love angels too, since they're so full of it (I love these history book puns). There is a punishment for killing another angel and I enjoy my birth given freedom too much to tempt fate.
The angel students on the theater roof are a mere audience; They're not introduced yet, which means they haven't been blessed by Aphrodite and still need to finish love school before they are driven out into the world in corny white carriages as professional Glorifiers.
Amor is not blessed yet, either. Technically. But he has been given the white wristband of Aphrodite. It allows him to operate early - He stood out in his class, between his peers, since he could crawl.
Well, rumor has it he's Aphrodite's scandalous love child but Aphrodite claims to this day that she's a virgin. Her love is pure and for all, and she is so full of love (amongst other things), that she is happy alone and childless...
Amor dances around the Opera roof and shoots more and more arrows.
He's barefoot, the bragger that he is. But he doesn't slide off in the rain.
At some point, he takes a break and leans against one of the sculptures inside the roofs roman stone triangle.
He stands there, grinning down at the freshly crushing humans. School girls are stroking hair behind their ears, boys are fiddling with their hands. Elderly people who had found wisdom and given up on love suddenly smile at each other. It's gross how self conscious people get once love hit. I want to scream at them - "you're being manipulated!". But I'll poison their hearts soon enough.
"Bah!", I stretch out my tongue at such a display of affection.
I want to grab my tongue and cleanse it with my nails, such a taste I have in my mouth.
I'm doing just that, when suddenly, I feel someone watching me.
Huh!
That's impossible.
No one ever watches me. Sees me.
I'm the shadow in the dark. I swallow light; even the iron lanterns around me only flicker dimly. I am darkness. Muahahaha-
But no doubt, somebody is staring at me.
I look up, hands on my tongue, to find none other than the golden boy himself looking over to my bridge. He froze halfway, while rolling over the roof, going for another pose. Now he's grabbing the edge of the roof. He's lying flat on his stomach. Staring.
His light amber eyes shine in the darkening sky.
He never noticed me. And I've stalked, yes admittedly, followed him a couple hundred of times.
Love is where Amor goes.
He must have wondered why his quota went down.
Why few of the couples he hit stayed together. Why there is a shadow over his love now... Almost like hate. It is an amusing thought that makes me laugh loudly whenever I think of it but it doesn't fill me up with giggles right now, not when he's staring at me like he does. He wasn't supposed to notice me. Can he see me from that distance?
I must believe that he can because his eyes are not moving from the spot - my spot! - and he slowly pulls himself back up on the roof and stands up. He lifts a hand and waves. Amor is waving at me.
I duck. The students on the theater roof have all turned, curiously raking their necks to see what Amor is seeing.
Before I'm caught (again), I slide over the edge of the bridge and jump into the water. I land on a creaky boat gently swaying on the ripples. It's tied to a large, wet most. It smells green down here. I crouch down and roll my eyes up. First of all: how did Poserboi even notice me?
I glare at the algae sticking to the downside of the bridge like it's somehow at fault. He must have noticed me for a while. But pretended not to. Sneaky. Sneakier than I gave him credit for. I might have to wait their glorifying session out in this stinking hideout spot.
While the angels glorify humans with their white arrows and turn them into - yuck - lovers, I create distrust. Occasionally feelings of loathing and even rage.
I can't cast it well while the angels are in range. They'll pick up on the distress of their human couples and swarm back to see what's wrong.
I wonder who Amor thinks I am. He must perceive me as a rivaling student from another Angel school. I'm in disguise; My dark hair is stuck under laurel and I'm all in white.
Okay, I'm wearing daggers in the belt under my toga but they can't see that. Except for a few suspicious bulges by my waist. Only my abnormally large bow would raise questions. Level six!
The people of my world always preferred to stay hidden. It's much easier to do our work when nobody even knows we exist.
And love angels - they party way too much to really do their research...
Of course the lazy angels of Valania assume mysteriously appearing broken hearts are a work of the devil. Or they assume they failed to glorify someone.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
They don't know about Irasci.
Our sub group of slightly more irritable and, okay, maybe very short tempered angels are on earth to cause balance.
It's not meant to be all bliss and smoochies! Yuck!
I shake myself and start stroking my bow to help calm my nerves. The energy from the sleek, meticulously worked black wood vibrates. It radiates waves of anger and hatred and purple venom - ahh, that's my kind of aura. Perfect to calm my irritated, poor little nerves...
"Uh-hum"
Someone clears their throat up on the bridge above me.
I freeze, hand on my bow, bow on my cheek, eyes half closed. Irritation flashes over my face.
I can feel the blood under my skin heating up as an angry blush spreads across my cheeks.
"Are you cuddling your bow?"
I glance up at a halo of blond hair on a backdrop of blue moonlight.
He's crouching where I have been crouching just five minutes ago.
The hem of his toga is so massive, the material so rich, that it rolls over the edge of the bridge planks in white waves. He's a barefoot painting of a man, his toes curling on the wet plank wood. His leaning his elbows onto his knees, looking down at me with an amused expression. It's hard to see with his face facing the dark - and me.
Immediately my eyes dart towards the plaza and his chin turns to follow mine. "Don't worry. I told them it's time to flutter back to the hotel. Some are studying the Opera guests. May I ask why you have been following me around for weeks? Was it weeks? I have a feeling it have been months. Maybe longer."
He wriggles there, bouncing up and down on his toes and his light brown eyes narrow. There's a glint in them and I wonder how much of me he can even see in the dark under the bridge. I make sure to step back further into the shadow, until my back hits rough concrete.
I grasp for the first explanation that comes to mind. "Isn't it obvious?", I say snarkily. My voice is a husky, unfriendly strangle. Usually, it shuts humans up real quick.
His face barely moves as he watches me. "No, what?"
"Of course, I have a crush on you!", I say and try not to erupt into hysterical giggles. I immediately feel the urge to.
Ha-Ha! A crush!
Ha-Ha!
And on Amor Felicis of all people! Oh my god, this is so funny, I want to dance a pirouette and toss myself into the slimy algae water.
Amors eyes narrow to spits as he inspects me.
"Hey!", I say slowly. "Is this an interrogation? Angels don't interrogate. Just say thank you and go."
His eyebrows shoot up.
He's sitting there, bouncing back and forth now and driving me mad with his annoying display of joy. His whole jaw dismorphs into dimples and laughter. He sits there, silently, soundlessly snickering at me. That's some guts. Let me tell you that much.
He's barely getting a grip.
"What's so funny?", I ask, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in vexation. Amors shoulders are trembling and he covers the lower half of his face with his large hand, fruitlessly trying to hide this ridiculous display of unmannerliness.
"I'm sorry!" His eyes are wet with tears of joy. "Ha-ha-ha!" He swats his tight. "This is delicious, truly delicious! I've never seen somebody declare their love in such a way!" He erupts into another laughing fit.
I cross my arms, leaning against the slimy stone wall behind me. "I am glad you find me entertaining."
"Why don't I know you?", Amor asks, blonde curls falling into his head as he leans forward. He tries to get a better concept of me but I tilt my head towards the right, further into the dark and he seems frustrated.
"I'm not from Valania."
"I figured as much - What a strange bow! But where are you from then? There aren't that many guilds covering Venice."
"We've been - privately recruited."
"Recruited?"
"I can't tell you more. It's highly confidential. Ahem." I clear my throat. "It's like an exchange thing."
"A thing. Hmm" He nods slowly. "I see. Do you want a kiss?"
I try my best not to throw up into the boat. Right there. "It's so nice of you to, err, conspire, err, cooperate with your fanbase. I'm afraid I would faint and possibly die." Of yuck.
He nods again, eyes - dreamily - drifting off to the side. "That's a valid concern!"
Suddenly, he gets up and collects his toga around him. "Well then, it was nice to finally meet my most dedicated shadow."
I'm grinding my teeth. The thought that he assumes I'm even more obsessed with him than he himself is, or those fans on the other roof is truly making my blood boil.
"Goodbye", I grumble.
"Aww", he coos. "Maybe we'll meet again. What's the name?"
"Eloise", I lie through gritted teeth. "Belllight" I always chose angel names with three L's. There are only so many. Makes it easier to remember.
"How delightful! Nice to meet you, Eloise Belllight! I'm sure you know who I am. See you around
"Urgh!"
"It was a pleasure, too!"
He thinks I'm mute due to feeling starstruck.
He jumps off on light feet and soon is up on the guesthouses. He's jumping from one roof to another. Suddenly, I don't even feel like casting hatred anymore. I'm filled up to the brink.
"Whoa. Who bathed you in the fountains of purity"
Ilia stares at me as I rush into our villa in my white fabrics, eyes wide.
"Amor saw me." I drop my bow on the ornate oak wood kitchen counter with a clank and Ilia glances up at me with one perched brow.
She has a glinting silver nose ring, black fishnets and spiky short hair that's died in all shades of dark purple and black. A lonely red strand hangs into her forehead. Her eyes look blueberries, night blue, on the verge of black. She's sitting up on the counter, feet crossed above the sink and spooning odd, pasty, colorful cereal in a cheerful pink bowl.
Her voice always sounds smokey. Like there's a campfire inside of her. If that's the case, there are no marshmallows. Ilia's as sweet as garlic bread. "Amor? Why were you near Amor?"
Right; I never told her I was spying on him.
I plonk down on the other half of the long, broad room. There's a seating area with colorful beanbags that look like dumplings and a long, curved, shapeless couch that looks like it's made from styrofoam. There's a large home cinema installed and an old rerun of Hurricane Catrina blares from the large screen. Vani lies stretched out, stomach first, on the couch, with her self decorated rubber boots up in the air. In neon colors, marker words like "Ew" and "Yuck" glow in the dimmed seating corner. Her hair looks like a unicorn threw up in it; all rainbow. She's giggling and stuffing popcorn into her mouth from a huge purple paper bag.
Ilia and Vani are my Triple sisters. That means, we're not actually related but we could be.
We grew up together and live in our shared dorm at home in the Narkburg boarding school for aspiring Caster Angels.
Since second grade, when we were put into a group, which is called a Triple. It's always three girls or boys. Technically none of us are allowed to cast hate yet.
But Irasci, the Caster Angels, are not known to stick to rules.
We will hardly be punished by the school when we go back.
If anything, headmistress Sorabella is going to tell us off with a smile and give us detention in the Icicle Tower, which means we can play video games until someone comes to lock open the doors.
We're the popular girls of Narkburg and people expect us to misbehave.
Sleepily, Vani looks up from her spot on the couch. "Did I hear you say 'Amor'?"
I hide my face in my hands. "I talked to him!"
"No!" Vani and Ilia both gasp. A piece of popcorn falls out of Vani's mouth and drops onto the cherry bonbon colored rug.
"I-" I glance at her from between my fingers. "I told him I was in love."
"What?" Vanis eyes bulge.
"With whom?", Ilia calls out.
"I told Amor I have a crush on him."
Ilia and Vani scream in terror and I groan, holding my ears. At least I now know for sure I ruined our little trip. "I know! It was a mistake! I didn't know what to do! He caught me watching him"
"Keir" Vani leans forward on the couch, hands on her knees, the expression on her roundish pale face earnest. There are purple feathers dangling from her earlobes. "What were you doing watching Amor Felicis?"
"I've been casting over his glorifications", I admit and both of their mouths drop open. "No way!", Ilia says. "That's feral! No one else dared to. It's- It's Amor! You can't mess with Amor, you know this. He's the poster child"
"He has lots of eyes watching him", I confess. "It was lightheaded of me. But my castometer went up so much, can you imagine the doom I brought? I did not think he himself would-"
"K!" Suddenly Vani is in front of me, knees on the rig and shaking me back and forth by the arms. "What were you thinking? The headmistress is going to kill us! Kill! K-I-L..."
"You missed an 'L', Vanilla", Ilia adds dryly and Vani shoots her a provocative glare.
"Shut up, know-it-all. English is hard. And so bland. There's a reason why most Irasci don't use it." She sniffs in derision.
I sigh. "I really messed up, didn't I?"
"Yes!", they both echoe and I sigh again.
"I'm sorry... But I just couldn't sit there and watch him ruin perfectly good hatred. He's such a show-off, you know. He takes enemies and turns them into a couple."
We all sit there and shudder for a while, letting the image sink in.
"Some off them were cast by us", I add.
Ilia is the first to shake it off. She claps her hands, fishnets whispering against the counter as she jumps down from it, her knee high boots echoeing through the kitchen. "Don't worry. We're a team. We helped you when the Eiffel tower was about to crash down, we help you know. If we go down, we go down together."
"But he didn't look mad at all."
"Maybe he's really dense", Vani says hopefully, an optimistic glint in her water blue eyes,.
"Or he thinks you're funny", Ilia adds.
"He thinks I'm a fan. And he was playing along."
"Or he's setting a trap for you", Vani whispers dramatically and I gasp.
"I doubt it! He's too full of himself to even consider that I'm not what I seem." I chew on my cheek. "He thinks Im a demented fan girl. But he's definitely on to me. He knows I've been around for months."
"Months", Vanis mouth drops open. Ilia hides her head and hair in her hands.
"Guys! My castometer! I leveled up while following him around! My arrow is on level six!"
They both groan in unison.
"First of all:", says Ilia, trying to stay level headed. "How are you going to explain this to the headmistress. Level six, Keir?"
"What if Amor goes to their headmaster and the Love Angels find out about us?" Vani is panicking.
"Sh. That's not going to be a thing. We're going to have to move up the plan", Ilia says, a twitch in her eye that makes me swallow.
She's always been the scheming one.
"What do you mean, up?"
"Vani is half right; We can't have Amor poking around. We need to hit big. And soon. Months, Keir. He must have noticed something was odd. That his couples are... Doomed"
I nod. We've talked about this. We came here at the beginning of the Academies big winter break to score cookie points. We've decided to go extreme in case one of our covers should fly.
"But it's not sure he suspects me of anything."
Ilia stares at me. "Stop clinging on to hope!"
Vani wipes off her mouth. "Okay, okay. Let's go for the biggest fish in the sea. At the Carnivale!"
"Carnivale?" I repeat.
"Yes, Carnivale!" Ilia's eyes light up. "It's the most romantic event in Venice! We wanted to go, didn't we" Her naturally lascivious voice drips sarcasm.
"The angels will be there", Vani comfirms. "We'll make sure Amor knows nothing. We'll, well, I guess we'll have to seperate him from the others and use our cast on him... Once he's desperate enough he will tell us everything. Only then we will use the cast to blur his memory and disappear. Mysteriously. While bringing doom over the... Ugh, lovers there."
"I don't know guys", I hesitate. "It's too risky. What if we get caught? We could try to just blur his memory. From a distance"
"The cast will be too weak" Ilia shakes her head. "He's on what, Level nine?"
"Eight", I mutter. "Hes not that far ahead"
"Keir, goddamn, stop being a megalomaniac. You did this. Our kind has lived in peace and camouflage until you developed a crush on Amor himself."
"Pretended to have a crush." I lift a finger.
They grab my arms and pull me into the salon next door. The popcorn is forgotten on the floor. "Come on, let's plan!"
And so we do. We sit down at the round glass table, surrounded by the most uncomfortable chic velvet chairs you could ever imagine, and we start mapping out a grand scheme. We talk about our masks and costumes and targets. We talk about the usual; mchaos and confusion and the perfect moment to strike. I think this might maybe work.