She’d never rescued an angel, before. Never seen one. Never drunk that dark red wine that she would never drink again…at the village dance she wasn’t supposed to go to.
But she had seen it! Had stared, soaked to the skin in the freezing summer storm; gazing up at dark clouds as the bright angel fought for its life against the attack of the orange demon, with its sickly glow.
She scanned the heavens as she waited, dripping at the door of the disused church within which she had placed his injured body, carried and dragged across muddy furrows from the place of battle over the old coppice. The dark sky was still swirling, malevolent with hate. Her eyes would not focus, half-blind with the angel’s brightness. Perhaps the demon had been injured, too? But she knew he was still up there… still waiting.
“He will come back for me,”…
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