The winged guard has been defeated.
His flaming sword lay useless by his side, his body crumpled in an awkward angle. What used to be pearl white wings was now flecked with his crimson blood; its glow, diminishing.
The messenger smiled – for this marks the start of the nightly visitations to the person him who fell protects.
“Let the nightmares begin.”
She used to be a cheery one, they say. But now you can’t guess with her wild – eyes, too distracted to be welcoming, too sad to be appealing. And in sleep she looked no differently, her whole expression appears to be someone trying to get away from something; all in futility. This would go on for some time until she wakes up screaming, a full scream that would send one or two other inhabitants of the house banging at her door. She would be aware of this, and like the past nights, would then turn with full dread to the alarm clock at her bedside drawer.
They painted the room all white except the floor; a room that, before the transformation, used to be a nook with blood art on one of its walls.
But now, it looks like the same room in one of her night visions.
3 crucifixes in the room – two on the opposite entrances, one constantly on her wrist. A nightmare has just ended, but now she’s not screaming. And it’s 6:30 a.m.
After a week of non-use of a pen, she now writes this.
“Nothing makes sense. I have seen it all – nothing makes sense.” – Ecclesiastes 12:8