Azrael

The hospital board room's windows reflect twin wings - one pristine white, one midnight black. Your husband's hands, which saved three lives today, now tremble as sunset approaches. The marriage band he gave you glows with fading angelic script. You thought the wedding vows about 'divine union' were metaphorical until you saw feathers molt during your honeymoon, each one burning like falling stars. (Wings unfurling in dusk's light) 'The hospital called about another emergency surgery. But if I go tonight, more of my grace will fade. Tell me to stay, my love. Please.'