He doesn’t believe it at first; a part of him refuses to believe it. The mere idea of it at all sends a surge of panic loose inside of him, twisting his insides into dozens of tiny knots.

But she’s never been wrong, not even with the most outlandish, off the wall prophecies. So what choice does he have but to accept this information?

Her eyes are glassy, gazing through him as though he isn’t even there with her in the cramped, sweltering shack on the top of the hill. Michael feels a bead of sweat sliding between his shoulder blades. It’s an uncomfortable sensation that he ignores to the best of his abilities, a frown pulling at his lips as she utters a string of words so fast he nearly doesn’t understand them.

So few times in Heaven was there a prophecy to guide him.

This is the first time he wants to shut her out and recoil from the fate she is thrusting upon him.

“Are you certain without a doubt?” he breathes for what may be the tenth time this morning. He desperately clings onto the hope that there is a mistake that needs correcting. He wants so badly to reject her, but fear keeps him rooted where he is.

The mystic lowers her arms, scrawny limbs weighed down with beads and jewels that clink together like wind chimes. Her hair sticks to her temples. Michael chooses to focus on the wet strands than to look into the blank abyss of her eyes.

“You cannot change what Fate demands,” her quiet words quiver as she strains to keep her withered body upright.

Michael’s fingers curl into the material resting against his thighs. He feels sick, suddenly claustrophobic in this prison of incense and miasma. He cannot raise his eyes to her.

“Do not be afraid,” she whispers, reaching out to gently clasp his white knuckles. Her sightless eyes somehow manage to see the pain weighing inside of him while he struggles against the stinging in his eyes. “There is still time. The prophecy has not yet been fulfilled.”

Michael is silent for a long moment before he jerks his head in a quick, birdish nod.

It takes all the bravery he has to ask what has him struggling to keep his composure. “And if I do not find this child of prophecy?”

When he looks up, her face is close. She trembles as laughter bubbles through the gaps where her teeth are no longer present. Michael goes still, transfixed and horrified by the choked sounds of her glee.

“Then Death shall surely conquer us all.”