My Dark Angel
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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Apr 20, 2016
"I hurried out the gates of heaven, the hound chasing my heels. Leaning over the edge once I got there, I looked down upon the human lights on earth. They seemed so majestic, but now all I felt for the unknown world was undying fear. I tittered over the edge just as the Heaven Hound bounded up to me, teeth bared. I could hear God's angered voice booming down at me as I spread my wings out and flourished through the light pink clouds . . ." ° Marie Angelus was born an angel in the heavens. Living life peacefully by passing the time looking down on the human world with awe, her life was perfect. Until she turned sixteen. All angels of sixteen years, male and female alike sprouted their wings at this time. All sprouted white wings since the beginnings of time. Only once before has a dark angel been born in the vicinity of heaven. Satan. Marie was second. The minute she sprouted the black wings that adorned her back, God ordered her out by the Heaven Hound, an animal used only once before to drive out the unworthy. Now, banished to the human world, she had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to live. At least, until she met another dark angel in a bar. Bar, yes. Weird place to find an angel, right? Not for dark angels, it's not. And this dark one, specifically, happened to be her soul mate. And if there's one rule in Hell, its that they don't do commitment.
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/lαժօ ճlαղcօ\: P̳r̳o̳c̳e̳s̳i̳ó̳n̳, escucha un solo instrumental, una historia que trascendió de p̳a̳d̳r̳e̳ a̳ h̳i̳j̳o̳. El triste cuento de su amor perdido, la pura r̳e̳i̳n̳a̳ b̳l̳a̳n̳c̳a̳, a̳s̳í̳ c̳o̳m̳o̳ c̳o̳m̳e̳n̳z̳ó̳ todo. A̳l̳g̳ú̳n̳ d̳í̳a̳,̳ u̳n̳ d̳í̳a̳, en el que regresemos de nuevo a casa, nos daremos cuenta de quién siempre ha estado destinada a ser l̳a̳ p̳e̳r̳d̳e̳d̳o̳r̳a̳ a̳l̳ f̳i̳n̳a̳l̳ y cambiaremos completamente la leyenda: /lαժօ ղҽցɾօ\: Hace mucho tiempo un viejo habló sobre una antigua fábula, acerca de una b̳a̳t̳a̳l̳l̳a̳ d̳e̳ o̳g̳r̳o̳s̳ y e̳l̳ g̳o̳l̳p̳e̳ m̳a̳e̳s̳t̳r̳o̳ d̳e̳l̳ h̳a̳d̳a̳ l̳e̳ñ̳a̳d̳o̳r̳, maligno en excesividad. Es oscura, tan oscura como para que n̳u̳n̳c̳a̳ m̳á̳s̳ creas en ese tóxico pasado amor, ni en l̳a̳ m̳a̳r̳c̳h̳a̳ d̳e̳ l̳a̳ r̳e̳i̳n̳a̳ n̳e̳g̳r̳a̳, así igual de terrible; pero a su vez g̳r̳a̳c̳i̳o̳s̳a̳ c̳o̳m̳o̳ e̳l̳ a̳m̳o̳r̳, alegre melodía a pesar del crudo gobierno que nunca morirá, en los s̳i̳e̳t̳e̳ m̳a̳r̳e̳s̳ d̳e̳ R̳h̳y̳e̳.

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