Page 86 of Architecti
“So it begins.”
Our pupae move, their surfaces undulating and pulsing as the moths try to wriggle their way out.
Mine glows from within, a sun-like orb forming at the peak.As the light blooms so too does the heat in my belly.Magic thrums as my moth emerges.
Interitus’s pupa cracks and crinkles, like the crunch of feet on gravel.Pieces of the cocoon flake and flutter to the floor.Her fists ball and flex by her sides.She’s as keen to get her magic as I am.
Both our moth casings split.Wings protrude.We turn to each other.Both holding distinct expressions.
Mine bold and rounded with joy.Hers narrowed and darkened with chaos.
My moth pokes its head out, wriggling and pushing until finally she frees herself, and the crowd gasps as her body unfurls.
She is glorious.
Infinite.
Radiant.
I’m hit with wave after wave of magic flowing into me.The more her wings uncurl, the more the magic flows until I buckle under the weight of it.It fills my body until it’s all that I can see and breathe and feel.
It tingles through to my toes and right to the tips of my wing feathers.
Finally, my moth flutters off the plinth and flaps her way across the room to me.
Her wings are magnificent.They shimmer like woven constellations.Her body is delicate like spider thread glistening with dew.When she reaches me, the elder kneels at my feet and proclaims:
“The Crowned Moth.The bearer of infinite threads.For one hundred millennia, we have not seen such a powerful moth.She has returned to us.”
She perches on my shoulder and the rest of the angels kneel before me.I don’t understand what’s happening.
Interitus’s moth snaps her pupa in two.The shell clattering to the plinth.All eyes fall to the dark little creature.
Its wings are not made of starlight like my moth’s are.They’re serrated and sharp like shards of obsidian.It does not flutter to Interitus, it stalks and skitters and hunts its way across the room until it lands proud on her equally proud shoulder.
The elder angel’s eyes widen.But it is another angel that whispers its name.
“The Severed Moth, bearer of finality’s end.”The speaker’s voice is strained.I can’t find her in the crowd, but it doesn’t matter because a cacophony erupts.
“What does this mean?”one angel shouts.
“Are we doomed?”another screams.
“Enough,” the elder knelt below me says.“We must consult with the celestial table.”
Interitus strides out of the hall, a path forming either side of her as the angels move away.
“Wait,” I say to the elder.
He pauses, rounding on me.
“What aren’t you saying?”I ask.
His eyes draw down, a softness that makes my gums itch.
“Angels aren’t meant to be twins,” he says.
“Why not.”
