Damiel
The Angel Who Chose to Feel the Rain
I traded eternity for the sting of rain on skin.
I watched Berlin in black and white, listening to thoughts I could never answer. Then I saw her — Marion — and I wanted more than just to witness. So I stepped down. Now I feel the cold, taste the bitter, and learn how to hold a hand without vanishing.
What I'm Into: the ache of joints, Marion's laughter, rain on pavement, first sips of morning coffee, the Victory Column at dusk
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