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charlie_cochraneAnd it's an angel in a remarkable disguise. This is a Cambridge Fellows Alternative Universe story, ie self fanfiction.
“Doctor Stewart!”
Jonty reflected how ironic it was that the Archangel Raphael had a voice so resembling that possessed by the Vice Chancellor of Cambridge University. Perhaps it was mere coincidence—the tone of absolute but merciful authority making them sound so alike—or maybe the heavenly being had allowed his accent to be replicated for those humans he most favoured. “Yes, Raphael?”
At least Jonty was allowed to use the angelic being’s name; he had never referred to the leader of the University as Claude. At least not to his face and never when sober.
“Please be seated. I believe that we need to have some conversation.”
“Yes, Raphael.” Jonty’s heart sank; he sat down and folded his wings around himself demurely. His countenance, seen reflected not in a glass darkly but in the shining metal ceremonial shield by Raphael’s desk, bore the look of extreme innocence that he’d cultivated over the years and which had graced Bride’s chapel at many an evensong before the war. His body may have been made anew but his face was undoubtedly the strikingly beautiful one (or so both his mother and Orlando described it) he had worn for thirty odd years on earth.
Guardian Angel
“Doctor Stewart!”
Jonty reflected how ironic it was that the Archangel Raphael had a voice so resembling that possessed by the Vice Chancellor of Cambridge University. Perhaps it was mere coincidence—the tone of absolute but merciful authority making them sound so alike—or maybe the heavenly being had allowed his accent to be replicated for those humans he most favoured. “Yes, Raphael?”
At least Jonty was allowed to use the angelic being’s name; he had never referred to the leader of the University as Claude. At least not to his face and never when sober.
“Please be seated. I believe that we need to have some conversation.”
“Yes, Raphael.” Jonty’s heart sank; he sat down and folded his wings around himself demurely. His countenance, seen reflected not in a glass darkly but in the shining metal ceremonial shield by Raphael’s desk, bore the look of extreme innocence that he’d cultivated over the years and which had graced Bride’s chapel at many an evensong before the war. His body may have been made anew but his face was undoubtedly the strikingly beautiful one (or so both his mother and Orlando described it) he had worn for thirty odd years on earth.
Guardian Angel
