Those rays of light were so scarce...
The raindrops were just falling as though nothing could set them free of the cold.
The hunger grew onto myself to finish what I had begun. But his will was far stronger and I gave up on me.
Thought it was an angel coming out of the fog, all white and gently touched by only a sparkle of pain in its eyes.
But then I learnt that daemons seldom cry for their long lost wings. And they often come in white for the fear of being rejected by human empathy.
For they need it as humans need their approval.
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