Archangel's Sun

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So long ago it is a lost memory . . .

Angels aren’t meant to die.

The words echoed over and over in Sharine’s mind as she stood at the burial site of her beloved Raan. She hadn’t known what he would’ve wanted because no one in angelkind prepared for death, and so she’d chosen his resting place according to all that she’d learned of him in their five decades together.

Such a short time.

She’d thought that he, older and wiser and gentle, would be by her side for an eternity. Her mentor in the art that was liquid flame in her blood had become her lover with an ease that seemed written in the stars, both of them more than content with their life together. She and Raan, they’d spent hours in the sunlight, alone with their canvases and their thoughts and their paints, yet together at the same time.

Angels aren’t meant to die.

Her fingers trembled, chilled and bloodless, as she brushed them over the small sculpture Raan had loved so much that he’d never parted with it; the favored piece now marked the location on this windswept part of the Refuge mountains where her Raan lay in eternal rest.

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