sure what Azazel is getting at. Only, the first fallen one has his eyes fixed on me, waiting, and I cannot do otherwise.
It depends on the scars and the pattern to be made. The design must be adapted to the texture and thickness of the skin to draw the eye to the representation and not to what it hides.
The scars must also be old, at least two years old, so that the skin has had time to regain some thickness. However, given the sudden mood, there is no need to go into detail. Mallory stands up straight, tense to the extreme. Her emotions choke me with their intensity. Rage, betrayal and sadness. A disaster is unfolding before us and Azazel seems to have no idea of the extent of the damage he is causing. This is confirmed when he clamps Mallory to his chest, preventing her from moving, to lift the back of her t-shirt.
- Could you cover this up?
He exposes the young woman's suffering for all to see. She must have gone through hell. Her back is all kinds of marks made by a sharp blade. I can't mistake the origin of the wounds. I've often inflicted them on myself to finally feel something that comes from me alone.
- Yekun?
I'm too shocked to answer. I feel like my skull is going to explode from Mallory's rage. It's a real physical pain for me. Especially when the anger of all the people in the room is added to it. Azazel finally pulls down the shirt of the young woman who runs away after having hit Azazel without restraint. I am tempted to do the same. He has humiliated his wife and reopened the wound of her greatest shame. Moreover, I am angry with him for having put me in a more than uncomfortable position. If he had explained to me why I was coming tonight, I would have declined the invitation with all due respect to him. I thought I was coming to help Mallory overcome her phobia. In reality, he used me to trap her. I prefer to leave without further ado.
Despite the late hour, I go to the only place that can soothe my torment: Angel's Ink. I caress the wooden counter with my fingertips and look at the pictures of my work on the walls. My baby has grown up. When I opened it, I was a small, unknown tattoo artist who only wanted to please myself. Today, I am a recognized tattoo artist whose clients flock to the shop to have their skin inked by me. I even have a full agenda months in advance, which is why I have to recruit a tattoo artist and a receptionist. And to think that it all started for my own relief. Unlike my brothers, my downfall was not due to my disobedience. My problem came from my nature itself. Being an angel means putting the feelings of your protégés before your own. If at first this did not cause me any problems, over the centuries it became a pain. As an angel working for the Ultimate Leader, we are forbidden to close our minds. In fact, I only knew how to do this when I arrived on Earth, following Azazel's advice. The problem was that I could stand less and less the thoughts of others in my head. I longed for more. What I really wanted was to feel my own emotions, my own pain. So I found an unstoppable way. I cut myself. I took a blade and cut myself. I slashed the flesh of my arm all the way from the shoulder to the wrist. Strangely enough, it did me a world of good. Our wounds heal almost instantly, but we still feel the pain. For that brief moment, I finally felt something that belonged to me alone. The benefit of the cut was short-lived, however. My recovery came too quickly. One of my protégés needed me and my desire to start again was left unfulfilled. I did my duty with devotion, as in the beginning of my creation. However, my heart was no longer in it. For several decades, in fact. It was not enough to remember my brief moment of existence, because that is how I saw it. I wanted to live for myself. I felt a pressing need to do so, and to achieve this I had to mutilate myself. I am not a masochist. I don't like pain. I don't like my own pain any more than I like the pain of others. I just wanted to feel something else that belonged to me alone. So I got into the habit of stabbing or cutting myself in multiple places more and more often. Until I was doing it every day, then several times a day. But the Ultimate Leader sees everything and he didn't really appreciate my new hobby. He didn't agree with my idea of life. Not at all! He said that it was not worthy of an angel and that I had to pull myself together. At that time, I still wanted to be an angel. I didn't want to become a fallen one. I had obviously heard of Azazel, as had all my people. I knew that others had suffered the same fate. However, we didn't know what happened to the Fallen once they were stranded on Earth. I was not ready to leave the Other World. So I made a solemn promise not to harm myself again as long as I had the status of an angel. This promise was harder to keep than I thought. The Ultimate Leader had given me more protégés than usual to keep my mind occupied. He had not understood that it was the screams of my protégés in my head that threatened to drive me mad! I was becoming irascible and dangerous. Until one day I had to intervene to prevent the death of one of my protégés. I threw myself in front of him, and the sword blow that was intended for him went right through my abdomen. What happiness I felt! Behind the pain, there was only me. It was my pain. From that day on, I did everything to put myself in danger. I preferred to fight with swords, sabres and other weapons of all kinds as long as they had a blade, and I only used my power as a last resort. In this way, my opponents had time to inflict wounds on me before I finished them off. I had found a way to keep my promise and at the same time get back what I had missed so much. Of course, the Ultimate Leader was not fooled for long. He gave me an ultimatum: life as an angel with no emotions of my own, or life as a fallen one. I chose decay. I couldn’t go on fooling myself. I landed on Azazel's doorstep, my brain on fire from the pressure of all the locals. He began by teaching me to close my mind to the emotions of others. What a relief it was the first time I did it! However, I had resumed my bad habits. I was cutting myself several times a day. Azazel didn't say anything even though he knew it. One day he took me to this small, colourful place where a stranger with coloured skin was waiting for me. I got my first tattoo and was ecstatic. Finally. I became addicted to this sensation, a mixture of pain and joy, and what's more, I kept a record of it. The idea then arose to make it my profession. I learned the job from the very man who was carving his work into my flesh, and here I am, in my own living room. Being a fallen man brought me redemption, being a tattoo artist, a purpose in life. I sit on the leather seat that creaks under my weight. I caress my dermograph like I would caress a woman. It is the extension of my arm, the love of my life, even if I hope, like Baraqiel, to meet the one who will make my heart beat. Although. When I think of Azazel's behaviour tonight, I hope to be a fool myself the day I fall in love. I light the torch and approach the flame to my forearm without hesitation. I want to leave a reminder of my brother on me, to remind me not to follow his example. Only I have no more room. So I burn my flesh to make the intricate patterns disappear. I can't help but smile under the crackling heat. The smell of burning flesh bothers me a little, but never mind. I turn off the gas and watch the skin gradually reform, leaving no trace of charred flesh. It's as if nothing had happened, except that all the ink has disappeared. Once the skin is completely smooth, I grab my dermograph and the various inks, turn it on, and begin to stitch myself into an intricate web, much like Azazel and Mallory's relationship.
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