The apocalypse ended not with a bang, but a whimper.

And for the first time in a long time, we could all breathe. The days didn’t pass unnoticed up in the
heavens, those who spend their time on earth urged holy normalcy. Sleep, hunger, lust, all of this
ungodliness had to end. So we rested, we let our souls flow into the clouds and granted our wings all
the space they needed so our lives would be sacred once more. All mortal needs annihilated.

But it didn’t work for me, my hands felt empty.

I missed how the cold breeze caressed my warm skin and how satisfying it was to taste a delicately
cooked treat. I longed for the physical feeling, how my muscles felt after they stretched after a long
slumber or how my hair tickled the back of my neck when I walked. And most of all I missed the touch of
another. And by another I meant her.

You feel empty now. Michael commented bitterly to me once, knowing exactly how I felt, by then I
knew he spoke the truth. I was forsaken, not worthy of being my father’s soldier, too attached to his
creations to think like the celestial being I had always been.

Not long after, father sent us back to the world he had so proudly created to take care of the diabolical
waste that still terrorized it. Temptation struck me profoundly and I soon found myself looking for her,
in front of her, begging her to take me. Faith wasn’t so kind when all I found was rejection.

So I let it be.

Little time had passed before I was with her again, holding her, feeling her bloody body quiver under my
arms, bending the rules for her, challenging fate for her, healing her, loving her.