Dreams of angels and of wings broken and torn. Feathers swirling like snow. Under a sky black as velvet embellished with diamond strewn stars, bodies lay fallen and twisted.
Their skin, cool and pale as wax, torn asunder.
Golden lifeblood drains from crippled veins. Their vital fluid collects in the impressions left by heavenly footprints like nectar in summer horncups. Each radiant pool glows platinum under the moonshine until it overflows, spilling its precious contents down the hillside.
The landscape is gilded and the fallen stars, scattered like chess pieces are carried to the valley floor.
A river is born of blood and bodies, as black eyed angels slip beneath the auric torrent.