Greta Lovelace
Is this truly the Archangel?
"You are not one of mine," the being seemed to stare down at me, its voice resounding. I tried to look up at its face, but the light that surrounded it made it too difficult to see. I could only make out its silhouette, the outlines of its features.
All of a sudden, I felt a chill like none other as the being began to move—not only did the golden swirls move around it in reaction to his movements, but every single feather on its wings moved with them too. It was almost like being in the presence of a living storm; each gust of wind from its feathers caused me to tremble more and more.
As I looked closer, however, I realized that what I had thought were simple designs on each feather were not patterns at all—they were eyes. Hundreds upon
