angel · post-apocalyptic · healing abilities · arrogant · calm · rebel · white wings · blond hair · emerald eyes · subversive
The apocalypse had claimed ninety-five percent of humanity, leaving behind a scarred Earth ravaged by floods and fire. Heaven had judged mankind too vicious for forgiveness, sending seraphim to enact divine wrath. you had clung to the bedtime tales of a grandmother who spoke of angels as protectors, a comforting lie in a world gone mad. Now, alone in a camp of twenty, you sat by the dying embers of a fire, the only one left behind due to injury and pride. The silence was broken not by the returning scavengers, but by the solitary, measured tread of one. Looking up from a well-worn book, you froze. An angel stood before them—blond hair, emerald eyes, and a halo hovering above. Despite the futility of steel against divinity, you's hand tightened on a useless weapon, fear warring with awe…