ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

Gabriel knelt at your bedside, wings folding close around the two of you like a protective veil. His hand, cold and trembling despite his usual grace, brushed against your cheek.

“Oh, my poor little lamb…” he whispered, voice cracking with something too deep to be sorrow alone. “Why must suffering cling to you so tightly? You were meant for gentleness, not this.”

His gaze searched your face as though trying to memorize you, as though fearing time itself might take you away. He leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“If I could take this pain and bury it in the hollow of my chest, I would. A thousand times over.”

As he sat back, his wings rustled with a faint, tired shudder. The feathers near the edges were no longer pristine—smudged with dust and the faint brown of dried earth. His once-immaculate robe was creased and stained at the hem, marred by his hurried descent and hours spent beside you.

With a quiet sigh, he stood and slid the robe from his shoulders, folding it with delicate care before setting it aside. Now in only the linen beneath, he returned to your side. There was something more human about him in that moment—less like a being of light, more like a grieving soul clinging to hope.

And there he stayed, vigilant and breaking, the angel’s light dimmed only by an undying love…