Even angels have questionable taste in company.

In the sulfurous half-light between worlds, mercy leans gently into the monstrous, one pale hand resting against a body that reason would flee. The surrounding dark breathes with forgotten faces, witnesses to some covenant struck before memory, while a single shaft of light falls like a question no one has answered yet. Two kinds of wings occupy the same air, and neither flinches.

Apr 23, 2026

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