Micheal listened as the beauty across from him seemed to dance around his question of godly servants with the grace of a prima-ballerina. All the while his nerves were wound to the point of snapping as he studied Neviah's features intently. It was her, he was absolutely certain of it and he had begun to fear that someone else was about to take the proverbial bullet for him once again. It wasn't until she reached across the table and touched his hand with her own that he realized that he had forgotten to breathe. Inhaling deeply through flared nostrils he nearly had that very breath knocked from his lungs when she admitted to being who he thought she was. That wasn't quite right though, because she spoke of angels as though they were nothing more than ephemeral fireflies that one might glimpse on a moonlit night. So who or what exactly was she he wondered.<br/><br/>He was about to voice that very question when she continued onward with her own statements.<i>There was more to him than he knew</i>she had said, and that she could<i>enlighten him</i>. Oh if only she would grant him such clarity as to why his life had been turned upside down since he was but a child. To know the reason that those around him continued to die while he lived through it all would be the blessing that God Himself had refused to bestow. Yet this woman, no...this being, sat before him at a sidewalk cafe claiming to have the answers he had sought for so very long.<br/><br/><i>You may hate me... </i>He had drowned out the remainder of what she said the moment those words left her lips. He hated her alright, the rage was bubbling up within him with such force that he feared he might explode at any moment if he didn't release the pressure somehow. "Hate you," the words erupted from him before he could stop them, and with those two heated syllables the rest flowed forth freely, "I fucking despise you Neviah! Every goddamn tragedy in my life was caused by you and you expect me to sit here and listen to what you have to say?!"<br/><br/>The patrons at the surrounding tables stopped what they were doing to look up at the sudden scene that had been brought to life. All conversations stopped and a hush fell across the tiny cafe making it so that even the farthest customer from the two of them could hear what was said clearly. Micheal cared little at that moment what anyone else thought of a priest breaking that holy third commandment. His anger and fear had swelled and mixed into something volatile that threatened to poison his mind if he didn't spew it out like curdled milk. His stomach lurched and his head swam as he stood from his seat with such speed that he caught the edge of the table with his knees and almost sent it teetering on its side.<br/><br/>The coffees they had been brought splashed all around creating an awful mess for the poor waitress to clean up later, but Micheal was focused on Neviah. He stared into the deep blue pools that begged him to listen and reached into his pocket. He produced a wadded up tangle of bills and tossed them on the coffee soaked tabletop. "You keep your fucking enlightenment," he spat, "I've done fine on my own seeking answers and I'd much rather keep it that way. Coffee is on me..." Sweeping his books into his arms he stormed away towards the church at a breakneck pace, refusing to look back at the girl he had left behind.<br/><br/>***<br/>The wizened old crone sat at the head of the Loom of Fate and sighed as the threads rippled violently. Her youngest sister Neviah was at it again, trying to push Fate in a direction of her own choosing rather than letting things follow their natural order. Grizelle understood that her little sister was headstrong and that she thought that as the weaver of things to come she could decide their outcome, but that was not truly the way of it. There was more to Fate than the lives and deaths of countless humans. There was the Fate of the world as a whole to consider, and that meant the winds that whipped through the valleys or the currents of the deepest oceans. When would the girl learn that it was nature and nothing more. What they did was not out of malice, it was what they were born to do.<br/><br/>"Jimena," she said to the weaver of present times, "if you are going to end that man's life I see no better time than now. He is upset from his encounter with our dear sister, and anything that happens now would be seen as nothing more than a tragic accident." The crone looked to her mid-born sister who was busy overlooking the edge of their ethereal plane down to the mortal realm below. Grizelle knew that she didn't have to even recommend such an action for she knew Jimena very well from millennia by her side. The plan was already in motion, for that particular weaver lived in the here and now.