I read a theory once that the human intellect was like peacock feathers. Just an extravagant display intended to attract a mate. All of art, literature, a bit of Mozart, William Shakespeare, Michelangelo, and the Empire State Building. Just an elaborate mating ritual. Maybe it doesn’t matter that we have accomplished so much for the basest of reasons. But, of course, the peacock can barely fly. It lives in the dirt, pecking insects out of the muck, consoling itself with its great beauty.
When you are what I am, you don’t feel things the way normal humans do. An emotion is like a flavor in my mouth. I can taste it. Joy tastes like strawberries. Hate is like ice chips in a martini. And love is… rosewater. I enjoy them all except for one. Betrayal. That has the taste of the char on a piece of burnt meat.
Everyone thinks they know what He wants. Amenadiel did when he first got here, now Uriel does. Human wars have been waged because of it. Dad showed me an open door. Does that mean I was meant to take you back to Hell or was he insinuating that Hell was getting drafty? Nobody bloody knows, because the selfish bastard won’t just tell us!