Right now, I’m nervous.
From up here, Earth looks like a cracked marble—blue and brown and bruised, but somehow still spinning. I press my palms against the balustrade of the Dawn Terrace and feel the hum of a billion prayers vibrating through the crystal floor. Each one feels like a small, warm bell inside my chest. heaven pov angel youngs
Heaven is beautiful. But beauty, I’m learning, is not the same as peace. Right now, I’m nervous
Here’s a short piece of content written from the of a young angel named Youngs : Title: Wings of Dawn Each one feels like a small, warm bell inside my chest
I’m Youngs. Only seventy-three celestial cycles old. That makes me a fledgling by Heaven’s standards. The elder seraphim glide past me without a glance, their six wings folded in solemn knots. They carry scrolls of law and light. Me? I carry a single feather that fell from the Archangel Michael’s left wing during the last Reckoning Drill. I keep it tucked under my tunic. It still glows when I’m nervous.