It was the sound that I imagined angel's wings would make. A roar I heard not in my ears, but deep inside the hole where I hide my darkest fears.
That winter the night moaned with a sinister gale that filled the frost bitter air with a sourness that my fright-crippled mind mis-perceived to smell like twisted promises and lost hopes.
I think that what I really wanted was to hope that they were angels as a feeble defense against what I knew in my broken heart to true.
These creatures; these beasts crawl from nightmares. They swoop upon us, punctuating unsettlingly still nights with unearthly wailing as another colonist is dragged from their loyal flocks and loving family.
These things; these are abominations.
THESE ARE NOT ANGELS...
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