Whispers and wishes. Within Eternity's comforting hand. Veils of beauty's light, silken and smooth, lifting away all pains and sorrows. Walking upon the wind of God's breath. A silken mane of soft gold cascading over supple skin. Alabaster and glory. A gown of silken grace, woven fine and smooth, flowing softly over breast and thigh, extolling her form in modesty and reserve. Whispers of jasmine floating softly in the air, and hint of Idunn's gentle hand. Full lips of rose and crimson touching a smile to the man of favor. Soft and sweet their healing touch upon the brow. Their brush upon the cheek, a steadfast armor to the gentle man. Eyes of deep sea whose cast may melt the strongest will, in gentleness grant visions of beyond. And the light from within glowing ever soft, warm, pure. Her voice, light and airy, a song of creation and life, bringing many man into the light, and calming the restless child. A beauty no sane man could refuse, and no madman resist.

Such was the Angel,
And shall never be again.

Where there is light, shall ever darkness grow in the shadow of man, black and hot, seeping ever upward into the empty spaces of the heart and soul. The spawning of evil lies in beauty denied. To be allowed on the edge, but denied the embrace. To look upon the glory and feel its denial burn upon the soul. To smell the jasmine as an acid in the lungs. To touch the alabaster and feel its soft warmth turn to a searing pain. The passion of her burning bright in the darkness, in the emptiness from which he formed.

Her love is a taunt, her beauty a temptation. A challenge of cowardice and scorn to his power. The gentle brush of her lips upon the brow, a dagger thrust in the open heart of a man weakened to the Darkness.

And evil grows, subtle and powerful. Flowing ever closer to the Angel, masqued beyond the silken veil of innocence and love. And the Darkness reaches out, tasting of the Light, touching he edge and bound; marking armor's faults for future strike.

While in his shadowed mind, the last remnants of the man reach out: What power may play upon a bare soul before that one does break? As wave upon wave of emotion, and tide after tide crashes upon the rock of resolution, it does erode and lose its form to the gritty sand below. Can Darkness be ever banished from the soul it has known so well? No. It is forever within, flowing softly into the spaces of the heart and soul left open by love and fear. Love.

What bane is love unused, and passion undirected. Without one upon whom to cast its warmth, passion's flame does sear upon the mind and heart, be it slow of fast. It leaves but a charred mass, slow to heal, and prone to fester and crack.

Passion pierces deep, and not painlessly upon the solitary soul. Screams upon the ether fall to none but shadowed ears, and is but Darkness come to call.

A cry rings out. Screams upon the ether. And demons approach, threatening to heed their master once more. Their master being he. Such loyalty in those demons. They have not forsaken him. Never far from his side. Waiting for a call to arms. Would that they were traitorous and had fled while he slept. But no, they remain, ever faithful, ever waiting.

Darkness swelling forward, the patient flow of tide. Greater and deeper. Bringing with it memories to prod. Pain. Such empty pain. Pain without redemption.

Not the sharp of the blade or the crisp of flame which serves to purge in cathartic grace, but the slow rot of evil and death. Cancerous upon the soul. What blade shall be raised to excise this corruption? In whose hand shall it rest? Or shall it even be raised? Is there salvation beyond the black? Or do prayers fall upon the emptiness of hopes?<

A cry rings out. A scream of pain into the silence and solitude. And madness walks its stately pace, ever closer to the walls. To intrude most welcome upon the soul. Is madness prison or freedom?

Can guardians hold it back? Or shall power raise beyond them and send him upon that path of power and glory. The path of madness and death. For he is strong. And his blade sharp within skilled hands. His armor hard against the truth.

And screams rip upon the ether. To be quelled and wrapped in the black warmth of evil. Until the dark one knows of what shall be; Man shall tame the Angel.

In the full of Diana's glory, in the heart of Gaea's land, came Darkness, crawling in the guise of an upright man. And in the full of night, far from any savior, the Darkness took the light.

Whispers became screams, torn piercing through the night, to fall upon the cold indifference and outstretched arms of the wood. Jasmine turned to acrid fear, and grace decayed to terror. With the dark smile of ascendancy bright upon the mask of evil's new face, and crisp claws unsheathed upon the Raver's empowered hand, the conquest began. Claws wrapped warmly around the Angel's slim throat, closing tight upon the supple alabaster. The silken gown of glory ripped from the Angel to fall upon Gaea's unyielding back. Her naked from ripe in the mind of the Darkness, fresh and inviting, untouched by mortal man. The lips of rose and crimson colored now by the red of blood, fresh and sweet upon evil's tongue. And the eyes of deep sea turned now white with pain and realization.

And with her collapse came evil's greatest pleasure. She lay upon the ground, his and his alone. No armor. No reprieve. The victim of dark pleasure. Evil's smile formed complete, and black laughter rang as pain ripped upon the Angel.

And God looked on as the Angel fell to the Darkness. No thunderbolts struck not wrath did fall from vengeful skies; nor did Nature howl in the Angel's anguish. All was quiet as the Darkness ravaged what was once Light. His black unyielding eyes flashing hotly in the gaze of an uncaring moon.

And God looked on in silence.

In dark triumph the man rose, sated and pleased in his evil, and strode calmly away beneath Heaven's indifferent gaze, leaving her behind, the memory of an Angel.