@seraphaels
He was dead, he was quiet aware of that fact. Had been for quite some time. Had resolved himself to a slightly longer wait in this dream-like state before rebirth.
But, for as long as he had been dead, he had never expected to see an angel. Demons, hell and punishment were all things that felt familiar. Unwanted, but home to him in it’s own small way.
The outstretched hand of an angel, their wings protruding from their back made out of silvers and a shining clear white brought him a true sense of awe. Grasping at their open palm and lifting himself up from the ground, Michel noticed absently that their hand was cool but not unpleasant. Like the balm Giselle made for the small nicks she obtained on her fingers.
“I’m not sure why you stopped to help me, it was just a fall. It hardly required divine intervention from an angel.”
He felt flustered and ashamed, but he spoke sincerely. No need to offend the divine in death.


















