(Open role play. Powers allowed. No fandoms). She carefully approached me. I haut turned away. "Are you ok?" She asked. I didn't answer. I couldn't. "Hello?" I turned. "Are you ok?" She asked again. (I need someone to be her.)
“Saint Anthony said, in his solitude, he sometimes encountered devils who looked like angels, and other times he found angels who looked like devils. When asked how he could tell the difference, the saint said that you can only tell which is which by the way you feel after the creature has left your company.” ― Elizabeth Gilber
He told me not to call him that, because calling him that would make him an angel and he wasn't one, no matter what I thought. Angels had wings, he said, no matter what kind they were. And then, he told me after, if he'd had wings he'd have torn them off by now. Maybe that's why I never got to see them. Maybe that's why the sad dark angel was scribbled on his wall; that's how he felt about himself.