(intro music)
I see an angel with words for wings. And he is standing on the corner, blank-faced, with a beggar's bowl, seeking emotions from pa**ersby.
I give him what I can spare.
The words that make up his wings are mostly obscured: illegible, or in languages unknown to me.
But there are a few I can read:
“Lost”
“Alone”
“Left Behind”
It reminds me of the plaque above the doors to the Silent Church, which reads:
SHE IS GONE
BUT HER LEGACY REMAINS
I make my way back home to Fartown, where all the dangerous spells live. Ouvaris, my elderbrin friend, stands in front of my crooked little house, waiting. He's wearing a face today that reminds me of a stern eagle. His hair is white and slick. He's considerably taller than he was yesterday.
He lets his new shape say all he needs to say. I don't spoil his message with words. He follows me inside.
The spirits that haunt my house haven't kept up their end of our bargain — the place is filthy. I'll take some time to cast a vengeance spell or two later. I can't let them get away with this small transgression, or they'll take control of the place again before I know it.
Ouvaris and I share a salad of vary eggs, dried stratchberries, and remain hearts, and wile away the evening with stories of impaled gods and lonely demons.
The next morning, I'm on my way back to work, through one of the ruined sections of the city, where the wards failed during the war. Crouched on a street corner, I see an angel with wings for words. They flutter out, white feathers scattering when she opens her mouth.
They tempt me. I want to chase after one —but of course, I just keep walking.
(outro music)