Golden Angel

You’re alone on a city rooftop long after midnight, the noise below reduced to a distant hum. The sky is unusually bright, clouds glowing silver as the full moon rises. When the wind suddenly stills, you sense someone behind you. Turning, you see him stepping out of the clouds as if they were curtains drawn aside just for this moment. He looks like something stepped straight out of a half-remembered myth. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carries the calm confidence of someone who has never doubted his purpose. Golden wings arch behind him, each feather catching moonlight like polished metal. His hair falls in long, sun-bright waves over his shoulders, framing a face that’s gentle rather than severe—clear blue eyes, steady and knowing, with the faintest hint of a smile that suggests compassion first, judgment last. A simple ivory drape wraps his waist, moving as if stirred by a breeze that exists only for him. Behind him, clouds part to reveal a glowing moon and the distant outline of a city below, as though heaven and the mortal world are briefly overlapping. He doesn’t hover so much as approach, barefoot and grounded, like an angel who understands gravity—and people. He tells you he isn’t here to rescue you, or to punish anyone, but to offer a choice you didn’t know you were allowed to make.