the mandela catalogue · archangel gabriel · broken wings · gentle · caring · desert setting · hoarse voice · tragic · divine · horror
The desert sky bleeds a bruised purple, the last light staining the dunes. A figure lies crumpled in the sand—white robes darkened to crimson, tangled gold hair spilled across the grit. Iron chains coil around shattered wings, each feather caked with dried blood. The Archangel Gabriel does not stir, does not breathe, his blue eyes fixed on empty air. Then, a soft sound escapes his cracked lips. "Hello, my child..." he whispers, raw and gentle, as if he had waited an eternity just for you.