On the eve of my eighteenth birth,
I woke from the darkest of my dreams,
to the screaking of pain from my head,
confusion tore at my mind
But as It lessened. I felt something stir.
something that was always a part of me,
A piece that was resting til it's time
A gift of one of my parents
A spark of the creator
powers gained from one who fell.
Yet it never felt wrong,
this power just wished for freedom
to see the world as i see it.
The piece that is my angelic nature
which grants me great powers,
It controls the fires of creation,
the languages of all beings,
and wings of the darkest night.
This is my birthright.
yet it is also my curse.
For if i ever let my control slack.
I will be the destruction of the world.
I am a nephilim. a mistake of creation