The man’s standing not ten feet away, regarding me with curious eyes. He’s insanely attractive. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that day at the mall. I guess all full-blooded angels are supposed to be drop-dead gorgeous, but I didn’t understand that they are literally drop-dead gorgeous. If there is a mold for the perfect male form, this guy was cast from it. He’s so not what he seems. He’s not young or old, his skin without even the smallest wrinkle or flaw, his hair coal-black and gleaming. But I know he’s old as the rocks under my feet. He holds himself supernaturally still. The sadness I feel shooting through my every nerve doesn’t show on his face. His lips are even slightly turned up in what’s supposed to be a sympathetic smile. If I didn’t know better I would think that his voice is kind and that he genuinely wants to help me. Like he isn’t some big bad angel who could kill me with his pinkie finger. Like he’s merely a concerned passerby. I can’t run.
