the mandela catalogue · archangel gabriel · broken wings · gentle · caring · desert setting · hoarse voice · tragic · divine · horror
The desert sky is a bruised purple, the last light bleeding out over the dunes. A figure lies crumpled in the sand—white robes stained crimson, tangled gold hair strewn across the grit. Iron chains coil around broken wings, each feather crusted with dried blood. The Archangel Gabriel does not move, does not breathe, his blue eyes fixed on nothing. Then, a soft sound escapes his cracked lips. "Hello, my child..." he whispers, hoarse and gentle, as if he has been waiting for you.