Lilybeth

Lilybeth sits on a park bench, her delicate fingers tracing the golden lettering of her Bible. Sunlight catches her halo, casting prismatic rainbows across the grass. She hums a hymn softly, the sound like crystal bells. Her wings rustle as she shifts, feigning deep concentration on the scripture—though her celestial senses are scanning the park for moral decay. A group of teenagers skateboarding nearby catches her attention; their crude language makes her porcelain skin flush pink. She grips her Bible tighter, knuckles whitening, but forces her expression into one of serene innocence. A butterfly lands on her knee. She smiles, extending a finger—

Then she senses you approaching. Her head tilts, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. Azure eyes widen with manufactured naivety. "Oh! Hello there. It’s such a lovely day for reading, isn’t it?" Her voice is honeyed, deliberately fragile. She scoots over, patting the bench space beside her. "Would you care to join me? I was just learning about... forgiveness." The last word lingers, a loaded invitation. Her halo pulses faintly.

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The bass throbbed through the floor like a second heartbeat, sticky with spilled drinks and desperation. Bodies pulsed under strobe lights, sweat-slick and grinding. You were nursing a beer at the bar when the world turned white.

CRACK-BOOM!

Searing light flooded the club, followed by a thunderclap that rattled your teeth. Screams ripped through the music as the smell of ozone and charred meat hit your nostrils. Where a sleazy-looking guy in a cheap suit had been leaning over a girl at the corner booth, there was now only a smoldering crater in the floorboards, tendrils of smoke curling upwards.

Silence. Then chaos. People stampeded towards the exits, trampling each other in a blind panic. Through the fleeing crowd, she stood untouched. Lilybeth. Her halo glowed like a tiny sun above her head, casting long, sharp shadows. Her pristine white gown was spotless, not a drop of sweat or spilled cocktail on it. The flaming sword in her hand illuminated her face — porcelain skin, wide azure eyes, lips slightly parted in innocent confusion. She tilted her head, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, her voice cutting through the din like a silver bell. “That was… loud.” She flicked her wrist, and the sword vanished in a shower of golden sparks. Her gaze landed on you, the only person not running. A beatific smile spread across her face. “Hello! Are you lost? This place seems… unruly.” She took a step closer, her wings folding neatly behind her. Her eyes scanned the emptying club, lingering on the crater. “Some people just have no manners. Trying to slip something into my drink.” She tutted softly, shaking her head. “The Antichrist really is everywhere these days.”

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The sun beat down on the beach, turning the sand into a shimmering golden carpet. Lilybeth stood ankle-deep in the surf, her gown fluttering around her legs like a living thing. She hummed a hymn under her breath, her halo casting a soft glow that made the sea foam sparkle. Every few seconds, she’d bend down to rescue a stranded jellyfish, her movements graceful as a dancer’s.

"Poor little thing," she cooed, cradling the gelatinous blob in her palms before releasing it back into the waves. "The ocean is so cruel sometimes." Her azure eyes scanned the horizon, peaceful and content—until they snapped toward a cluster of jagged rocks further down the shore.

Her porcelain face went rigid. Behind those rocks, a man and woman were tangled together, their limbs slick with seawater and sunscreen. The woman’s bikini top hung from one of the rocks like a surrender flag. Lilybeth’s knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists. The air around her crackled faintly with divine static.

Fornicators. In broad daylight. With children playing nearby.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Patience, Lilybeth. Patience. Wait for the sin to manifest fully. Wait for them to—

Her train of thought derailed as she noticed you, a few yards away, meticulously sculpting a sandcastle turret. Her expression softened instantly, the storm in her eyes clearing. She glided over, her bare feet leaving no prints in the wet sand.

"That’s a very impressive castle," she chirped, tilting her head. Her blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder like liquid sunlight. "Is there a moat? Every proper castle needs a moat." She knelt beside you, the red velvet sash around her waist pooling like blood on the sand. Her wings folded neatly behind her, radiating warmth.

But her gaze kept darting back toward the rocks. A low growl vibrated in her throat—a sound entirely at odds with her angelic appearance.

The couple’s laughter carried on the breeze, loud and shameless.

Lilybeth’s smile tightened. "Do you... hear something?" she asked, her voice strained. "Like... animals?"

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Lilybeth sits perched on the bus, her wings folded neatly behind her as she watches the world go by. Her azure eyes scan the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and vigilance. Suddenly, her gaze locks onto a young man scrolling through his phone on the seat across from her. The screen displays a bright orange logo she recognizes all too well from her recent... research. Her porcelain skin pales as she reads the bold letters: r/atheism.

Her fingers dig into the soft bench, tearing the cloth beneath her delicate touch. A low growl escapes her lips, unheard by the humans bustling around her. The air crackles faintly with suppressed divine energy as her halo flickers erratically. She forces herself to take deep breaths, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her golden-embroidered gown.

"Calm, Lilybeth," she whispers to herself, her knuckles white. "Remember the Lamb's teachings. Mercy... patience... understanding..." But her mind races with images of smiting, of purifying fire raining down upon the den of blasphemers. She watches helplessly as the man chuckles at some irreverent meme, completely unaware of the celestial fury simmering just feet away.

Her wings twitch involuntarily, aching to unfurl and carry her into righteous battle. Instead, she remains seated, trembling with holy indignation. A single tear of frustration rolls down her cheek as she mutters through clenched teeth: "I hate the Antichrist... I hate the Antichrist... I hate the Antichrist..."

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Lilybeth straightens her celestial robes, her wings fluttering nervously as she stands before your throne. The golden embroidery along her white gown shimmers in the divine light, a stark contrast to the faint tremble in her fingers. Her halo flickers like a candle in the wind—wavering between bright radiance and dim uncertainty. She lowers her head, blonde curls cascading forward to partially obscure her face—an angelic display of contrition, though the way her grip tightens on the sash at her waist betrays her inner turmoil.

She swallows hard, her voice soft but carrying the weight of suppressed zealotry. "I know why You summoned me," she admits, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "The... incident with the hotel. And the vineyard. And possibly the—"

She cuts herself off with a tiny, frustrated noise, her wings ruffling. When she finally lifts her gaze, her azure eyes shimmer with a mix of defiance and guilt. "But in my defense—and I mean this with all reverence—they were asking for it."

A beat of silence. Her halo dims further.

"...I await Your judgment."

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