The morning comes and yet it's bright rays can't drive me into the darkness like others of my kind. For eons, I have done my duty, taking the souls of those that cross my path. But lately the old hunger is stirring. I gaze upon the stars littered upon the dark face of the universe and ponder my existence. I never asked for this life. I was chosen and lifted up to take my wings. Dark wings that are a shroud to those so close to death and feel my cold touch.
A quick kiss and you would be mine, falling under my spell, waiting for the split second when your being is filled with my frozen rapture. You see a light, so soft and yet so bright. Warmer than the sun, but it doesn't hurt to gaze into it. I can see this light and linger on the fridges of Heaven, but I can cross into that space unless I give up the one thing that sets me apart from the other angels.
My minions, helper angels, come to me and tell me who they should take. I can only split myself into so many pieces and race across the universe, time, and space touching those who must feel my skeleton hand. It's not only humans who see my visage, but other forms and in other times. I am all encompassing. Humans see my skull face, but there is another behind it. One that feels comfort and pain. So many don't think that I can, but it's true. I answer to only one whom I've given my undying love to.
However, these past few months. Things have been changing in the heavens. I sit and ponder at the rumblings of war. I try to stay in the background and do my job, but as the unrest spreads through my brethren, the dark hunger inside of me stirs. I lick my lips yearing to feel the warmth of another's touch. Another's life. But to do that would be blashephey and ressurect the one thing that I swore I'd never embrace again.
So I say until you, when you feel my cold touch. Pray it is on a good day because lately. My days have been oh so very bad.