In the darkened room the peeling paint seizes the form of a twisted angel one wing shielding her eye, from the light. Spilling through the corner of a window, a whisper of sunflower yellow radiance spreads folly throughout the dank dungeon, as it dances to the drumbeat of the rain. The relentless, yet soothing, cadence of the rain is a musical symphony Michaelangelo would paint if he was a artist dedicated to the folly of sound, borrowing the trumpet of Gabriel, the angel, whose sounds stroke the sleeves of a whisper grand and savory, guiding sinners to the light of goodness. Oh how I love to bask in this light stripped naked of wicked thoughts, as it continues to rain above me and a brush of a whisper on the walls resonates around me and begins to paint all my sins; once the broken, now I am forgiven by the angel who no longer abhors me for my folly. that folly, my dreaming folly which once covered me in a garish purple light and now Gabriel, the trumpeted angel flaps his wings in a celebratory rain dance, landing against the window, a coat of paint blocking even the crack, so that now the light is not even a whisper in the room, The darkened room is transformed from the whisper of light into the morbid vision of a stiff stripped folly,
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