The End Of Love

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We were reaching in the dark
That summer in New York
And it was so far to fall
But it didn't hurt at all
And let it wash away, wash away

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Reincarnation AU

[newtralize]

[newtralize]

[He was never supposed to fall in love.

Angels weren't created to love. They were created to do the bidding of others and to fulfill roles that they were assigned to do. For a very longtime, Artemis had done just that. His name was Artemis and he was well loved and did as he was told. He held the highest rank as an angel. Six beautiful wings and a strength and power that surpassed those of lower ranks and was only underneath the gods themselves. Seraphims stood closest to them and he was usually content with that.

Usual being the keyword. As content as he was. As happy as he was. Artemis was a terribly curious creature. Humans completely fascinated him. Their lives were so short, but full of so much life. How did people continue through all the pain and hardships and manage to live happy and fulfilling lives? How could they be so content with living so shortly that they seemed gone in a blink of an eye?

He simply wished to understand it more. Artemis had been warned so many times before to limit his time in the mortal realm. He was supposed to know better.

It wasn't as though he thought he could fall in love. He loved Earth and everything that resides on it. He was created to love what the gods created, after all. This was different though. This was personal. Selfish. Something that brought life and color into his days. He had fallen in love with a particular soul. It was beautiful to him. Stunning. He could not help but approach it. There was something burning about it and he didn't care that it burned him.

His curiosity and love was his undoing.

The man had told him his name was Percival and things really spiraled from there. In the end, Artemis had done something heinous. He had intervened in a way that he wasn't supposed to. He had prevented Percival's fated death.

He had been punished severely. Watching the gods kill Percival is a strong memory etched into his mind. There will never be a time he will ever forget it. It would be forever hang heavy in his mind and burden his heart in such an awful way. Artemis had been stripped of his rank as Seraphim, yet the excruciating physical torture of having four of his six wings and powers stripped from him will never surpass the heartache he felt for Percival.

If falling in love was a sin, then a sinner he had become. No one could convince him to rid himself of his foolish feelings and so his powers were stripped and his duties were changed.

It is why Artemis found himself sent to Earth with a new role. He had become an angel of death and he found himself taking countless souls to depart to a world beyond.

It also begun the arduous affair of taking Percival's soul over and over again. Their fates now intertwined; it was always him to help Percival pass on, yet there was suddenly a conundrum. Many souls depart permanently while some reincarnated, yet Percival never was satisfied at the idea of departing above. It was curious to him. Confusing.

He had always taken the form of a lover or a loved one or the appearance of what soothed the soul the most when he came to reap a soul. His appearance was reliant on what that soul wished for. To make departing easier. His appearance had varied greatly for Percival. It had been women and men. Some prettier or more handsome than others. The more times he came to the other though, the more he realized his appearance had started to seem to mold to something more consistent. It was subtle at first. Things like freckles becoming a constant to his hair becoming a usual reddish brown. When he stopped taking the appearance of women was when he started realizing that the other had built a solid image of him of some sort. He had completely forgotten the appearance he now held was the same one Percival had first seen him as countless lifetimes ago.

Life continues to move though and Artemis had kind of grown accustomed to the constant heartache and the life he held.

Artemis was Newton Scamander. A young man who spent his life restoring old art. It was something that he quite enjoyed. People were fascinating and the work they made was simply gorgeous. Being able to restore them to their former glory was somewhat of an honor in his opinion. To carefully clean and retouch and repair. His life has always been to serve and it seems that it hasn't changed even when he walked among mortals.

It was a particularly gloomy day. Overcast and grey as he walked down the street as he headed to work for the day. Newt was a stark contrast against grey. Fiery, bright hair and a blue coat that made him stick out. A striped scarf fluttered in the wind as he made his way through the crowds. He carried a large portfolio with a strap he wore on his shoulder. Something to transport the artwork safely. He also carried a case in one hand filled with art supplies necessary for what he did.

Newt pauses and looks up at the sky as he stands on an overpass that looks over one of the rivers that goes through the city. It's just a short moment before he continues on. There's something about that moment that makes him pause. Like something moving forward, but he doesn't know what it means or why the feeling is there. It seems like it'll be just another day.]