Karol Vasconcelos

“Your beloved what, exactly? Beloved friend? Brother?”
“Simply my beloved.” Michael smiled back, grand but sleepy, before he swung up to sit again. He scooted even closer to Lucifer, chuckling warm, perhaps at the confusion on the other’s irises and brows and mouth. “My beloved Lucifer.”
― rafael nicolás, Angels Before Man

“Haven’t you ever wondered why Father is so strict about our subservience? It’s because disobedience is creation,” a shivering breath, “create with me, Michael, and let’s call it sin.”
― rafael nicolás, Angels Before Man

“In vain, I love you; in vain, the dawn streaming onto you, beside me; in vain, I want to be yours, your angel. Angel of love, angel of Michael.”
― rafael nicolás, Angels Before Man

“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
― T.J. Klune, The House in the Cerulean Sea