An Angel of Death

Sleek strands of ink fell back away from its face, swishing, swirling down like rivers or waterfalls, blacker than black, a void almost blue in tint, an ocean of sorrow. Flint grey eyes accopanied, harsh, accusing in their stare, surrounded by lashes like forests of seaweed. Horrible, but entrancing, its face seemed ageless,and murky, as if surrounded by shadows. The few wrinkles upon its brow from displeasure like chasms, endlessly dissending. Enormous wings dwarf its gauntness even folded down to its back as they are now, a few shades darker than its eyes, and full of constallations. It’s dressed in robes lighter than its wings, a steely grey. They’re long and a misty hand raises itself to you, a silent question. You can feel those eyes bearing into your skull, daring you to disagree, so you take its hand, accept your fate. As it sweeps you into a dance, the last you’ll ever know, you feel yourself fading. Thoughts fainter, peace rising. With a final spin, you are gone, the angel is left swaying alone to music no one can hear.