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"Once upon a time-" That's always how a fairytale begins.
A boy, late at night, being told about his father's people. The ones with wings, the ones that can fly, just like the boy's dad.
Both, and even maybe the father more, love the fairytale about 'The angels of Death and her Angel'. And so it began:
"Once upon a time," the father begun, smiling at the boy laying besides him. The father doesn't need to read the tale from a book, he knows it from heart. "Once upon a time, there was a little boy born. His mother looked at him and knew that her baby would be special. The boy opened his little eyes, looking at his mother, and his mother saw that he had beautiful blue eyes, as blue as the morning skies and the lakes in the mountains.
The mother questioned whether the boy looked like his father, strong, wild and white winged. If the wings would be as big as his will to fly in the open sky. Being strong enough to carry him everywhere he wants.
The mother looked down, down at his little nose, the mother loved him already. She was his Angel, her angel to save her one day- one day when she would be too old to fly.
The mother looked at her angel, her little angel sleeping in her arms. She will call him Angel.
As the boy grew older, the mother kept loving him, kept longing to see the boy's wings. If they would be the same beautiful shade of white, the same white they once heard of. The colour of snow high up in the mountains, the snow white that leaves everybody staring at them.
The boy grew and grew, he became eight, the mother knew that; that is the age his wings will break through. Telling him who he will be, what his path in life would be.
As the boy grew bigger, stonger and older, his wings came through, leaving everyone stunned about the path the boy will be flying.
Her Angel was different from every one in the cave, his wings where black. They were beautiful. They were the colour of the nightsky, the nightsky that dissolves every little mistake in it. His wings were unique, he could hide them in the shadows, letting them vanish when it is dark enough. The most beautiful set of wings his mother ever saw, the once that are layered in feathers that will let her little boy fly.
While the little boy learned to fly, the mother found how much he looked like his father. Beautiful blue eyes and his blond locks.
As the boy grew older, the angel she once saw became different than she knew him to be. His wings became dull, not shining so bright as the day they came to light.
He began talking about his people, the angels with black wings, just like him. He talked about Lady Death, telling his mother that he would like to meet here.
As the mother grew older, she lost her angel. The lightning, that once brought him into the world, bringing her her worst nightmare.
Her boy, her little Angel, had been fulfilled his wish. Her little boy wasn't careful enough and met Lady Death sooner than his elderly mother.
The ones, who said that Lady Death wanted her angel, was always right. Lady Death got her angel, even if that wasn't what Angel's elderly mother ever wanted.
Even if there were so much more angels She could choose from, she chose him. The Angel of Death," the father told his son, running his hands throught the brown locks of his son's hair. "And you, you are my angel," the man whispered in the ears of his sleeping baby boy.
The angel of the Angel of death, they could say.