Work Text:
Made from a golden stamp,
Magic blending into black,
Warping and distorting at the edges,
Cherubin, your wing imposing.
Eyes full of wonder,
Hands grasping, touching, living,
The idea, of a copy, made reality,
Made free, but not quite.
Oh, but dear angel,
Your mouth twisting in words,
In pain, joy, misery,
Bound by your reality's confines.
You're not real, he'd had said,
But i can make you,
The words twisting around her,
Unbreakable link sealing their pact.
Oh, but dear angel,
The shards lining,
Your expressions sharpening,
Is that, envy, i see?
Staring, deep, thorough,
Hoping, aching, wishing,
Staring, hatred, jealousy,
Hoping, taking, holding.
The golden key to your prison,
Mocking, taunting,
The strange boy, your persecutor,
Staring, waiting.
Glass breaking,
Dawn falling,
Your feathers cutting, crimson,
Your hand no longer reflective.
Running up, up, wing spread wide,
The endless staircase, racing
Heart thumping, ready to take off,
For one chance at happiness.
Oh, but dear angel,
Clever, smart, thorough and yet,
Oh, but dear Enjel,
Thorns scraping, our pact is done.