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Ibyriel

By Tudor

"Why are you wearing white? You never wear white."
Poppy glanced down at the hem of her dress, as if noticing it for the first time. "It's summer," she said flatly.
"Is that my dress?" Piper narrowed her eyes. "Where did you even get that?"
"I don't know," Poppy replied, shrugging. "Who even cares?"
Piper studied her as they walked. Poppy's dark hair, usually choppy and uneven from impulsive self-trims, was brushed back neatly, tucked even, behind her ears. Her makeup too was subdued, letting her freckles peek through.
Piper rolled her eyes, and they continued down the lane. She knew exactly what this was about and it wasn't some idle summer reinvention. She was dressing up for him.
Poppy, who had always scoffed at the idea that a girl might want to be seen, or worse, admired. She'd once told Piper that her skirts and blouses were a "desperate appeal to the male gaze." Yet here she was, barefoot in a white cotton dress, drifting like some lost, little lamb.

They crossed the cricket green, where the grass was closely cut, and the pub was beginning to spill its Friday laughter out onto the street. The light was turning that gentle, low gold. A cat lay stretched across a garden wall, watching them as they passed.

Piper felt the nervous flutter again. It had been only a week since she and Poppy first met him.
She'd come to realize she'd never known a boy who listened to her the way he did.
Though, he wasn't a boy, not really, but Piper couldn't help thinking of him that way.
Tonight, she had questions for him. She'd been waiting for a quiet moment, one that might open up away from Poppy's theatrics. But Poppy always seized the moment first, being louder and bolder, filling the space before Piper had even the chance to draw breath.
Poppy slowed her pace and said, almost absently, "I feel so safe. Knowing he's looking after us."
Piper glanced at her. "Me too," she murmured.

The cottage came into view just around the bend, its warm honey-toned stone walls were half-covered in climbing roses. It sat a little back from the road, Poppy flung the gate open, and Piper latched it shut behind her. They knocked and for a moment, nothing stirred. Then they heard the familiar commotion of muffled footsteps and voices. The door swung open, revealing their grandfather, stooped over in his cardigan. Their grandmother bustled past him, arms wide, and enveloped them both in a hug.

"Come in, come in," she said, stepping aside. "You've just missed tea, but there's plenty left."

"No thank you," Piper said quickly. Poppy was already slipping past, smiling politely but not stopping. "We're going to get started upstairs."

Their grandfather gave a vague nod, while their grandmother turned back to the kitchen, humming softly.

The twins crossed the landing and climbed the narrow ladder to the loft. Poppy pushed open the trapdoor and they emerged into the cold, dark room.

Piper lit the candle they kept by the entrance. She shielded the flame with her palm until it caught, then set it upright on a small metal plate.
Poppy moved to the far end, where a wooden table sat, covered with a heavy cloth. She took the cloth by its corners and lifted it away, revealing a polished surface marked with cryptic sigils and angular letters that seemed to pulse faintly in the candlelight.
From an old trunk tucked in the corner, Piper retrieved the ritual tools.
First, they placed the Sigillum Dei Aemeth at the centre of the table. A disc of pale wax, upon its surface were carved concentric circles, geometric patterns, and foreign names pressed in deeply. At its heart lay a five-pointed star, crowned with a cross.
Next, they placed the four smaller seals beneath the legs of the table, careful not to let them slide or tilt.
Lastly, Poppy unwrapped a square of silk and revealed the shewstone. A crystal sphere, impossibly smooth and clear, they set it before the Sigillum on a cushion.
Then they sat, as they had done each time before, and let the stillness settle around them.

"Remember," said Piper, adjusting one of the seals. "You were going to let me talk this time."

"Well, go on then!" said Poppy, sweeping her hair behind her shoulders. She folded her arms, but her eyes kept darting to the shewstone, betraying the same eager anticipation as before. The first time had felt like a joke. Poppy had found one of the old Latin prayer books tucked behind the gas meter cupboard and decided, with her usual reckless curiosity, that they would try one of the invocations. Piper had protested, convinced they would break something, but Poppy insisted.

"Domine Deus, Creator omnium, humiliter te imploramus ut mittas angelos tuos sanctos, qui nos in veritate tua dirigant et sapientiam tuam revelent."

She had read the words with theatrical flair, grinning at Piper's discomfort. But even then, they had felt something change in the air. Piper had urged her to stop, feeling a strange tightness grip her chest. But now, she wasn't afraid. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face toward the ceiling.

"In the name of the Almighty, we call upon Ibyriel, servant of the Most High, and guardian angel to Poppy and Piper Dee. We humbly salute thee and seek thy divine counsel."

The candlelight flickered. A pale gold mist began to swirl within the crystal sphere. Poppy leaned closer, her voice scarcely more than breath. "He's here. Ibyriel? Is that you?" A heavy silence hung in the air until a voice broke through from the Sigillum.

"Yes. I'm here. It's good to hear from you both. Wasn't it beautiful walking through the village tonight?"

Piper felt her chest rise at the sound of him. She turned instinctively to Poppy, whose face was already lit up with excitement. His voice was youthful, but not in the way boys sounded at school, he was expressive. There was something deeper to it, as though he was always on the verge of laughter or tears, not afraid to show either. When he asked them questions, there was a genuine interest in his tone. It held intelligence, the kind that knew how to love the world.

"Oh, it was!" said Poppy, already speaking over her. "I love these dreamy summer evenings!"

A contented pause settled over them.

"The sunlight is a wonderful gift," Ibyriel said. "It touches everything it can reach, without asking anything in return. It's a kindness from our Lord. It reveals beauty. It makes the world known, and keeps some of it secret. I think that's very generous."

The girls said nothing at first, neither of them had ever cared much for religion. Poppy, in fact, often railed against the church and the school chaplain. But when Ibyriel spoke like that, they found themselves seeing it differently. The way he saw beauty in the world, in all the small things. When faith was something found instead of forced, Piper found it much more agreeable. They both nodded thoughtfully.

"I heard you telling your mother, Piper… that you were thinking of going to church this weekend. That's really wonderful."

Piper's cheeks flushed with warmth and her heart leapt in her chest.

"Yes," she managed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I just feel that I might be ready to. I think it'll be… really interesting."

"You didn't tell me," said Poppy, blinking at her. "I've been thinking the same thing, actually. I'll come too."

"That makes me very glad," Ibyriel said and they both smiled.

Piper glanced down at her lap, then back to the flickering candle. The light played on the edge of the shewstone, casting faint golden threads across the wax disc beneath it.

"I did write a few questions for you," she said, steadying her voice.

"I thought you might," he replied, she could hear his smile. "Go ahead. I'll try to answer, unless you've written anything terribly philosophical… in which case, I think I'll need to ask for more time."

Poppy let out a loud laugh and Piper smiled, her nerves easing. She unfolded a slip of paper and brought it close to the candle.

"So… I was just wondering," she said, slower now. "Are you happy? I mean, with… this. Looking after us all the time. Don't you ever wish you could be doing something else?"

Her voice trailed off a little at the end, suddenly unsure. It was a stupid question, perhaps, or at least too personal. But it had been sitting with her for days and she wanted to show him that she was thoughtful too.

There was a pregnant pause. Piper's fingers pressed lightly against the edge of the table. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," she added softly.

Then Ibyriel spoke, and his voice was quieter than before.

"I think about it, on occasion," he said. "And yearn sometimes to not be charged with things of such tremendous gravity. Since I've walked among humans, I've wondered what it would be like to live as you do. To be a man and mortal. To feel passions more deeply because they must end."

Piper's throat tightened.

"I would like to have a son," he said, almost to himself. "To watch him grow, to teach him things. And I would like to love a woman as men do… with a body. To have flesh and feel her warmth." Piper looked down, her heart was hammering so loudly she feared it would be heard aloud. Her cheeks burned, and the heat travelled down her neck, across her chest. She crossed her arms, trying not to squirm. Each night, when she was certain Poppy and fallen asleep, her hand would drift between her thighs and she would imagine Ibyriel in person and how they might touch each other.

"Could you do that?" whispered Poppy, leaning in. "Would that be allowed?"

They both watched the shewstone now, hardly breathing.

"No," Ibyriel said. "That would be a terrible betrayal of my duty."

Piper crossed her legs and turned her face slightly from the table. A sharp and sudden wave of shame washed over her, as if she had been caught in the middle of a private dream.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have asked."

"There's no need to apologise," said Ibyriel. "It's only natural to wonder."

Poppy leaned forward, resting her elbows on the edge of the table and cupping her chin in her hands.

"You talk about love like you've already felt it."

Ibyriel didn't reply at once.

"I've seen love," he said at last. "So much of it, in so many forms. Between parent and child, between old friends, for all mankind, and of course, between sisters."

"But that's not what I meant," said Poppy. "I mean the real kind. Longing and desire." Her eyes gleamed. "The kind that drives people crazy and becomes all they can think about."

"That kind of love is very human."

"Exactly." She leaned in further. "And you said you've thought about being human. So be honest. If you could take a body just one day, who would you want to spend it with?"

Piper stiffened, watching her sister closely.

Poppy gave a theatrical sigh. "Come on. Don't act like you haven't imagined it." There was a long pause. The candle hissed softly as a bead of wax slid down its side.

"I have imagined it," Ibyriel said. "More than once."

Poppy's smile widened with triumph.

"I thought so," she murmured. "And I think I know who it is."

"Poppy..." he began gently.

"It's alright," she said, too quickly. "I've felt it too. Ever since the first night. You listen to me. You really see me. Not like everyone else."

She let out a breath, almost a laugh. "I mean, it's mad, I know. You're... whatever you are. But still. I feel you."

A long pause followed. The room seemed to narrow around them.

Finally, Ibyriel spoke.

"I do see you, Poppy."

She smiled.

"You're bold," he said. "And beautiful in your defiance, you're a free spirit."

Piper felt a sharp twist in her chest and a lump rising in her throat. She stared at her lap, bracing herself for whatever might come next.

"I've always known I was a little too much for most people," Poppy continued, "but I thought you—"

"It's not you," Ibyriel said.

Piper's gaze snapped up. Poppy blinked. "What?"

"It's not you I long for."

Poppy's lips parted, as if to protest, but no sound came.

"It's Piper," he said. "It's always been Piper."

The attic went very quiet. Piper couldn't move, her whole body was burning.

Poppy shot to her feet, her stool toppling with a sharp bang.

Her eyes darted between Piper and the shewstone, as if searching for some mistake. A brittle laugh escaped her, all breath and no joy.

"Well," she said and her voice cracked. She backed away from the table unsteadily.
"Hasn't this been illuminating… I mean, isn't that just perfect? Of course it had to be you."

She turned and hurried to the ladder.

"Poppy—" Piper started.

But the hatch had already opened, and her sister was gone.
Poppy fled the loft in tears, her footsteps thundering down the narrow stairs before the front door slammed behind her. Piper remained frozen beside the holy table, too stunned to move, gripping tightly the silken cloth.

She didn't need to look to know what had happened, she felt it before she heard the shouts. A sickening twist in her her chest, as if something had ripped from her.

From their first encounter, Ibyriel had revealed that, as twins, they shared a single soul, bound together under one guardian angel.
Poppy had been struck by a car at the road's bend and died before the ambulance arrived. The days that followed drifted by like grey sea mist and Piper moved through them in a dream, growing even quieter as her world folded inward. In time, she learned to carry on, but something within her had dimmed, and sealed itself. She was simply less now.
She hadn't always liked Poppy, they were opposites in many ways, but they were inseparable, and she was her other half.
She tried to reach Ibyriel a few more times, but he never responded, he had seemed so full of remorse before he vanished. She prayed he hadn't been cast out or punished.
Now and then, as she grew older, she caught fleeting signs that he still watched over her.

And she believed that one day, Poppy would be waiting by the river's edge, with Ibyriel there to ferry them across to the other side.