One day, after several million turnings of the universe, the Afterlife’s Glorious Hospitality Crew’s traditional millenia-end satisfaction survey revealed disturbing news: they were considered rather anachronistic when greeting newcomers. The angels were informed that they must be more empathetic, but there were no tomes in the Heavenly Library that could teach such a skill.
One young Cherophan, a cross between the clans of Cherubim and Ophanim, observed the world below and decided that there was only one way to learn. Thus, it went to find where it might obtain a heart.
In the Wizard’s Workshop, the Cherophan signed the check-in sheet, using a platinum wingtip. It hovered in the glassy emerald chamber while the desk assistant trembled, eyes squinched tight as they avoided looking up. When the immense green velvet doors opened, the Cherophan swooped in to discuss its problem with the old man in the ratty velour coat.
“Okay what have we here?” The old man shifted his glasses, focusing on the clipboard. “Says your name is… Cherophan?”
That is what I am. Not my name. My name is not translatable to sound.
The old man winced as the voice that was not a voice echoed through the hall. “I see. This says you… want a heart? Tin Man Syndrome, I assume?”
My kind are not metal. The wheels of eyes only look metallic.
“I see.”
We don’t have hearts. I am looking for a heart.
“Mmm.” The old man closed one eye and peered up at the immensely bright mass of wings and eyes hovering above his table. “Are you sure? Hearts hurt, you know.”
So I have heard. But I must learn empathy. My kind are not built to feel, so I must have a way to understand your emotions. How you connect.
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
It is critical for my job.
“Ah. I’m very sorry. The hearts I have in stock wouldn’t help you understand emotion.”
The Cherophan contracted, its shimmer dimming, and the old man took pity on it.
“Try the Heart Monarchs. They might have something.”
Very well, the Cherophan sighed, and went to find where they might be.
The Cherophan found the Heart Monarchy difficult to navigate. Everything was flammable, and each time it so much as twitched a wing, several people, flat as playing cards, were blown over.
“Why are you here?” a voice squawked from behind a bush.
The Cherophan blinked twelve eyes. I am looking for a heart. I have come to ask if you could provide one.
“Stop screaming!” the Queen shouted.
The King popped up from behind another rosebush. “Don’t be angry, it’s just a—what are you?”
I am a Cherophan.
“Off with its head!” the Queen yelled.
The King squinted at the Cherophan. “What head?”
“It’s round and has eyes, so it must be a head! Off with it!”
I would prefer not, the Cherophan replied. It flapped a wing and more card people blew away.
“No hearts to spare! Go away!” The Queen ran off towards a large field, and the Cherophan focused several of its eyes on the King.
Is that true?
“Even if we did have some, I don’t think they would fit you,” the King said.
The Cherophan contracted, its fire spilling out in its distress.
“No, please, try the Bear Gods,” the King cried.
Very well, the Cherophan sighed, and went to find where they might be.
The Cherophan’s arrival in the crowded room was greeted with screams, but it refused to be distracted. It approached an aproned person who was standing frozen next to a set of white bins filled with fuzzy objects.
I am looking for someone who can provide me with a heart.
“H-hi, I’m Becky,” the person said. “I’d b-be happy to h-help. Do you mean our Valentine’s Day Special?”
No. I am looking for a heart of my own.
“O-okay, I, um, can help you with that. These are our options.” Becky gestured at the bins. “Um, what do you think of these?”
The Cherophan trained a whole wheel of eyes towards the bins, trying to comprehend the shape of the objects.
Then it saw.
A thing with wings. And fire.
That one. It gestured with two wings.
“The dragon is a good choice. And you said you wanted a heart?”
Yes. One that beats.
“Anything else?”
More wings. And more eyes.
“Ah, uh, let me see what I can do.”
When Becky returned, the dragon was festooned with wings at all angles and seven more eyes. Becky held out a red heart to the Cherophan. “We—we have a ceremony along with this, if you want?”
What kind of ceremony?
Becky looked over the Cherophan’s eye-wheels and wings, then winced. “Uh, okay, you don’t really have a body I can use. I’ll hold this up to you, and you make a wish for the heart of your dragon.”
I wish for this … dragon to feel, to understand.
Becky nodded, then tucked the heart into a slot behind one of the dragon’s wings. She stitched the slot shut before handing it to the Cherophan, carefully avoiding the puffs of fire. When the Cherophan grasped the fuzzy thing with its wings, the body thumped, like a real heartbeat.
All the Cherophan’s eyes moistened as it looked at the thing, so like yet unlike itself, with its beating heart. Somewhere in the center of the Cherophan, an ache expanded, as though the ache itself was breathing. It hadn’t known its corporeal being could experience these things, and its shimmering expanded until the whole mall was glowing and every shopper and employee was squinting and shading their eyes.
I—I am astounded. How can I repay you?
“Um. That’s $79.97.”
The Cherophan materialized two $100 bills in the local currency and left it all for Becky, for the trouble and effort.
As it returned to Hospitality, it hoped it hadn’t hurt Becky’s eyes too much, and decided to practice toning down its shimmer.
Risa Wolf is a multi-gendered water elemental disguised as an ink-stained lycanthrope, who imagines houses for book-ghosts for a living. Their writing can be found at Apex, Diabolical Plots, and Clarkesworld. Visit them on Bluesky at @risawolf.bsky.social and at killerpuppytails.com.
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