Scaramouche is out late at night, with a beer on his hand, sitting on an empty bench across the street. It was a perfect moment for him.

untill all of a sudden, a slender figure appeared. Your wings are pure white feathers, The wings that once soared gracefully through the skies, carrying you above the clouds and into the realms of heaven.

His indigo eyes met yours, "how could you take my breathe away?" He said entranced by your almost supernatural beauty.