It is written, angels are higher beings only seen by the holiest of persons. It is written.
It is written, a supreme being, created angels as superior deities and assigned them to earth to look down upon us like tiny ants in all our vileness. In all our hissing and unmusical dialect. it is written.
It is written, angels are beautiful creatures that when one beholds, blindness is sure. Their beauty is so far incomparable to anything that man can think of. So, when one beholds such a species, their eyes can’t describe what they saw. Their eyes; this epiphany, they don’t understand. So they regress spontaneously, ultimately going blind.
Angels are direct creations of God, each one a unique master’s piece.
It is written that sinners can’t stand in the presence of an angel. It’s an unholy crime. They are likely to burn in mercy, the icy wind dispersing their ashes. They carved these in stones.
Travis doesn’t know how true those holographs are. It may be a whole bag of lies, written by ancient old men with pipes stuck in the corners of their mouths, because right now, at this very place, he stood in the presence of one—an angel. He was yet to go blind from her beauty. He was yet to burn to crisps.
****
Travis tilted his head and watched the woman, gauging where she fitted in his whole debacle. She was angelic; that was the biggest understatement of the century. Other words… no words they could form will place her where she belongs.
She sat on her windowsill, eyes gazing at the clouds, lips upturned in a frown. He stood amid nature’s beauty and saw only her. Like the creep he has become at that particular moment, his eyes never left her face. While the cold rain splashed over him, he took in all her features. Her face’s sharp edges were like a new addictive drug; the kind that no therapy, no psychiatric hospital could quench that urge to keep coming back for just a sight. He sounded like an old pervert, deprived of the touch of women for a long time—but he knew, yes he knew, that a hundred gorgeous women could surround him at this moment, all naked and his eyes won’t budge from that window. Lost in her thoughts, she had this softness on her face right now and he felt in his heart a quiet peace.
He was dragged out of his reverie with a violent jerk. The girl on the window had come alive. She was looking at him with curious intensity.
For a long moment, they looked at each other across the space between the window and the garden.
****
Jovic stared curiously at blood-red eyes, eyes that were already upon her. She came out from the depths of nothingness and saw a strange man, with wavy black hair and a lean face. His gaze was pure man: lazy arrogance and lustful.
His eyes; who could do such? His soul called out to her. She washed out her guilt and sadness, feeling instead a curious sensation. But it’s the strangest thing. She doesn’t recall when it happened. When she said the words, those soul-snatching spells. She’d handled things just right so far, this could be its undoing. A vital part of her rule: men like him bring nothing but trouble. And his rosy lips and deep eyes will only serve in trapping her. The enchantress becoming enchanted—that is ironic in so many ways.
His voice had a velvety smoothness as he said, “Hi." Sensuous and sharp, that he didn’t need to wave his hand again to attract her undivided attention. He gave her his most charming smile. ‘’I think I am lost. Have you ever seen a house made entirely of candies and sweets?"
Her eyebrows creased. “What?”
“You know, Hansel and Gretel?”
Jovic shook her head, more confused than before.
