DIMA

MyGen Profile Generator Enormous wings black as death. Feather to feather. His feathers shine, shot with a metal. Razor – sharp at the edges. They rustle barely audible when He’s quiet. But when he spreads His shining wings trying to embrace half of the Universe they rustle deadly. His wings are charming. They are the only thing you can stare at when you see Him. His spread wings cut the Universe in two halves. The one in front of Him where you are standing – the other which is behind his back where only shadows dwell. I don’t really know how the Angel flies, had never seen. I barely can realize that only one sweep of His deadly wings could cause a hurricane. Never call the Angel. Even in time of a deep distress you can just imagine Him standing behind your back with His wings wrapped all over you. Those wings will become yours for a moment and you will spread them just once. Here comes the hurricane. Rustle of death. A priest once told me that He exists. Angel. But he’s the other one. Fallen One. Demon. So lonely. Eternal wanderer. Eternal Outcast. Without home or shelter. How do I know that? How could I figure out that this is Him? These questions are absurd. Try to drink seven bottles of Vodka in one day and you’ll se anyone. (c) Y.Brigadir