Angels of Black Heaven

CHAPTER THREE
book one: ethereal icarus

            Everything had to start from something. A conflagration always commenced with a little spark finding its way through few-dried leaves; then devouring everything in its path. So did Matthew Craighan's defiance. It started with a question. All were circling in his head: the night that made him admires mortality, the condemnation; the group of cloaked repears, the blooded night, the scythe he held in his hand. After all those times, he came to realize he wanted to feel. He wanted to live. He wanted to see the world with days numbered. He wanted to become human. He wanted to feel alive.

            Every passing day was like a book, as he flipped through the pages, all he wanted to know was being revealed before his eyes. But, he wasn't even halfway there. If the truth was a library worth, he had only stumbled upon a chapter or two.

            He felt cursed, like Anathema, though, he sure wished there was more to life, to his second life, than meets the eye.