Impassioned

Flutter

The Angel before him

Consumed his entirety

Was it the right choice?

Dieci.

Eleven months, three weeks, seventeen hours, thirteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds and counting. All from a vision of an angel.

A dark haired man stood in the midst of a small workshop, staring at the pure white marble before him. He breathed onto the surface of his creation as he envisioned the contours of the final sculpture. In the man's weathered hand rested a simple sculpting mallet. He once again began to pound relentlessly, with primal animalistic viciousness at the chisel set upon the marble. His movements bringing to life the memory in his mind.

His brown orbs, tinged with ferocity, focused even harder on the shape of the stone in front of him. A head of golden brown watched with concerned eyes as the man struck the marble with a tenacious glint in his eyes. Seemingly desperate to conjure up that image of perfection, the man never broke his concentration.

"Seungcheol, I really think you should rest. This is the second time this week that I found you passed out on the floor. How can you even continue working after that?" The smaller male perturbed, lips in a frown, an evident tint of concern in his voice.

As if noticing the other person for the first time, turned halfway to look at the imposing man. The dark circles under his eyes accentuated his ghostly pallor. The once healthy skin, that the pale man used to envy, vanished.

"Jihoon. I know, I'm sorry for worrying you, but I can't stop now. You can go home, please, I can take care of myself." He assur ed, waving the tall male off.

"But Seungch-" He tried to say.

"Jihoon. Please" The now deathly pale man cut him off. He looked directly into his friend's eyes as if to prove his point.
Jihoon reluctantly nodded his head and took a deep breath.

"Just remember to take care. Promise me." Jihoon reminded. He waited for Seungcheol to agree to his terms before he left his friend's studio.

Nove.

I can vaguely remember when Seungcheol suddenly began to bang on my door one winter morning, though the memory is now hazy in my mind. I opened my door to find him sweating profusely, his usual calm and collected personality seemed to be nowhere in sight.

"S-Seungcheol?... what are you doing up so early in the morning?" Jihoon drawled with his sleep-tinged voice. "What do you want?"

And then he told me, how it had appeared to him in a dream, a figure - hauntingly beautiful, radiant as the summer sun, with features of those you would find on the busts of the ancient divinity.

"-And I saw the angel! A face so breathtaking, so ethereal, and defined!" Seungcheol exclaimed. As his ravings trailed off, he had caught the uncertain expression I'd been making. I was concerned for him because he was not acting his usual self. A frown was then painted upon his lips.

"Jihoon, believe me! Listen. The angel whispered in my ear... The angel told me to set it free! I need to set the angel free!"

Utterly speechless I was. Seungcheol. Never had I ever even presumed I would live to see my friend, the epitome of discipline, in a frenzied state such as this.

Otto.

Each strike, every strategic chip off of the piece of marble before him brought the man closer to his dream. A sliver here, carving the beginning of a strong neck, a tiny flourish there, to create the small wisps of the angel's hair. For months he worked without break. He treated the sculpture with utmost care. Not once did his intense focus cause him to make even the smallest of mistakes. Nothing was in the way of setting his angel free.