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Description
A figure in a bleak landscape sits. Lightning dots the horizon, throwing tendrils of light around a darkened sky. Winds sweep, tugging at a chilled body and pulling unkempt hair. Eyes glazed stare vacantly at barren patches of earth. Thunder rolls, but no ear hears. Elements sweep and rush about, yet an eternal stillness remains.

In a land of despair, a light comes down. Shadows are cast off the quietly sitting figure, but still she does not look up. The angel walks to her bathed in light. Gently it kneels to raise her chin, peering with pale blue eyes. The gaze it receives tears at the angels soul, as cold and clammy arms raise to grasp the angels shoulders. A pit of despair, has no ending, thin fingers stretch out touching delicately feathered wings. Hands that should soften at the slightest touch, eyes that should show compassion, show a depth of unending pain that makes the angel cry out in horror. The hands clench, tearing at feathers as blood scatters, watering the long parched landscape.

The angel lies, a shrivelled heap of tormented flesh, two, brittle crimson stumps are all that emerge from a back meant to represent all that is beautiful. A small distance away the figure sits again, around herself she has wrapped the torn and bloodied wings, though in this place they provide no comfort or heat, her skin is still as cold as ice.

Her whisper sounded soft and smooth, yet chilled as the winds these words travelled on, "You would bring hope, only to take it away again. You are no angel of mine."

Scan date: 9/01/2005.

Description
A figure in a bleak landscape sits. Lightning dots the horizon, throwing tendrils of light around a darkened sky. Winds sweep, tugging at a chilled body and pulling unkempt hair. Eyes glazed stare vacantly at barren patches of earth. Thunder rolls, but no ear hears. Elements sweep and rush about, yet an eternal stillness remains.

In a land of despair, a light comes down. Shadows are cast off the quietly sitting figure, but still she does not look up. The angel walks to her bathed in light. Gently it kneels to raise her chin, peering with pale blue eyes. The gaze it receives tears at the angels soul, as cold and clammy arms raise to grasp the angels shoulders. A pit of despair, has no ending, thin fingers stretch out touching delicately feathered wings. Hands that should soften at the slightest touch, eyes that should show compassion, show a depth of unending pain that makes the angel cry out in horror. The hands clench, tearing at feathers as blood scatters, watering the long parched landscape.

The angel lies, a shrivelled heap of tormented flesh, two, brittle crimson stumps are all that emerge from a back meant to represent all that is beautiful. A small distance away the figure sits again, around herself she has wrapped the torn and bloodied wings, though in this place they provide no comfort or heat, her skin is still as cold as ice.

Her whisper sounded soft and smooth, yet chilled as the winds these words travelled on, "You would bring hope, only to take it away again. You are no angel of mine."

Scan date: 9/01/2005.