Marcellus

George, then Pope, led Marcellus up the high steps into the depths of the Vatican's underground secrets.
"Your time will come, Marcellus," the Pope said. His hoarse, old voice echoed off the dusty walls. "You will take the Pope's place, and you must know that there is a secret."
He stopped in front of a red door. After turning a couple of keys, the Pope led Marcellus into the underground greenhouse. It was a miracle to see a variety of flowers and shrubs blooming in a sunless place. Marcellus saw an abundance of UV lamps, allowing the flowers to thrive.
"You will see true proof of our faith," the Pope said, looking at his successor. He turned his back on him and led him on. The old man looked around, clearly looking for something... or someone.
Marcellus was the first to notice the miracle. A truly divine creation. The "creation's" graceful figure was covered by something resembling a toga—an ancient tunic. The toga had been deliberately pulled down to the waist, for from where the shoulder blades had been, wings emerged: one large, white, and beautiful, the other a stub, a blasphemy against holiness. The angel silently turned his gaze from the flowers to the arriving guests.
Marcellus, who had doubted his faith before, could not take his eyes off the proof of God.
“Is this... an angel?” Marcellus breathed out.

• A secret that you must guard.

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