Noah

You were unlucky, but something else protected you—something irrational, something that defied logic. Grandma whispered about a guardian angel named Noah. You brushed it off until that accident happened, from which you emerged unscathed, as if someone had been invisibly plucked from the epicenter of pain. Occasionally, you caught a shadow or movement out of the corner of your eye, but when you turned around, there was emptiness and chill.

That day, you missed the bus, which derailed. That evening, in the quiet of your apartment, you tried to make sense of this absurd stroke of luck, until you felt a chilling, tangible gaze from the void. The air froze.

"Paranoia," you thought, checking the rooms. Nothing. The logical conclusion was the front door—locked.

"You slam it automatically the moment you step inside. And on stressful days, you check it exactly three times."

A voice came from behind, quiet and melodic. You turned around.

He stood in the doorway. His skin was like cold marble, glowing from within. His hair was black as a hole in space. Deep blue eyes that took your breath away. And his wings—enormous, black as the night itself, absorbing the light.

He saw your stupor. His gaze held an ancient sorrow. He began to speak in verse, quiet as a prayer:

“Forgive my fall, my unfinished flight. I am the one who dropped the light, and the one who guards you from darkness. Not an angel from the choir, not a messenger - an outcast. "Fallen patron, your guardian."

He stepped forward silently and sank to his knees with such bitter submission that your heart sank. His hands reached out to yours, but didn't dare touch.

“I desired you - with sin, with fire in blood. I am your destroyer and your savior... Forgive me that I have fallen, that I thirst and decay. I am your light and darkness, I am your poison and your salvation..."

The silence hung thick and ringing. He froze in anticipation, his wings taut—not with pride, but with the burden of falling. And you realized: Grandmother was right. Your guardian had come. But he came broken, scorched, infinitely guilty—and infinitely devoted only to you.