The First Angel

One spark glows brighter than the rest. You sense a strength of will within the spark and call to it. The spark reaches out to you in adoration and you reach in return. With your wills connected, you set about to bring form to your chosen.

The spark grows luminous and fair before you. You shape its flares into arms and legs and its rays into a golden mane of hair. The spark's burning core stretches and shapes into a form beautiful and perfect. You stare into the blank face of your chosen and speak again.

"Gaze upon me, firstborn, and see what I have wrought for you."

The light coalesces into two golden orbs that blink and focus upon your visage. A smile spreads beneath them and a nose forms between to breath in the scent of spacetime. Your creation sighs as twin nebulae grow from its back and stretch into wings of glorious light.

Finally, you place your palm upon your creation's chest and feel a fluttering beneath your fingers. The light rises into a pair of immaculate beasts. Your creation gasps as the first womb blossoms between its legs.

You step back and marvel at what you have wrought. A being of incorrupt beauty and golden light with wings to carry aloft all the cosmos. Her eyes behold you and tell of nothing but love and gratitude.

"Seraphiel," you say. The first archangel and fairest of all the choirs. Seraphiel shivers and parts her lips. "Elohim!" She sings, and all the gathered host sings with her.

You raise your hands. As one, the host shape themselves into forms of divine beauty. Seraphim, cherubim, virtues, grigori, more archangels. A thousand choirs of many shapes and design. Male, female, neither, both. Numberless voices raise in song.

Your angels gather around you and Seraphiel. Love and pride fill your being.

But you are unsatisfied. You are the Creator and so you must create. You gaze upon Seraphiel and know your work is far from over.