butdoctorwho:
amaleia-rose:
“What if a weeping angel fell in love with a human, but she could never touch or talk to him, and just followed him around all day. And then, just once, she followed too close, and accidentally touched him, and this was the result.”
I never cried because of an weeping angel’s life until now
Weeping Angels: The Lonely Assassins. Always feared, despised and never given a second thought to their selfish actions, throwing humans back in time to consume their potential energy to thrive as a race, living constantly in both the shadows and in plain sight, not always seen but always there.
But one angel never sucked a single human’s potential energy. Not once. Instead, she chose to protect one human, following him around, guarding him at a distance and becoming the angel on the lonely man’s shoulder. The first time they met, she saw him at a graveyard, mourning the loss of his now deceased wife and still-born child, buried together. He was hunched over the grave, soft tears falling down his cheeks, when he happened to look up and, just behind an old oak tree, see an eroding statue of an angel, a gentle mix of blue and black in colour, tilting her head and watching him with her vacant eyes. He blinked once and saw the angel was gone. The statue had disappeared from sight.
She followed him home, every day after his visit to the graveyard and stood watching over him every evening. She saved him from death several times, once from a mugging, twice from a car crash and more often than not from suicide. In order to survive, she took the potential energy from those who had harmed him, or those who pose a threat towards him. But she never once got to touch his fair skin or his delicate lips.
The times where he closed his eyes, either from blinking or during his sleep, she had the chance to come close enough to his face, to smell his musk, to observe each and every one of his features in more intense detail, but she never got to touch him. There were times where she was caught out, every now and again she would have to freeze when he opened his eyes.
One time, again at the graveyard, she stopped behind him, but instead of jumping in surprise or in fright, he stood and stared at the statue, for - to the angel - what seemed like a lifetime. He knew she was watching over him. But then, he blinked.
In his blink, she moved closer towards his face, caressing his cheek with her hand as she would, ensuring she would keep her hand at least an inch away from his face.
But it was just one finger tip. One touch.
He was sent spiralling back in time to live a life without his guardian angel.
She soon found his grave. An impressive casket made from limestone.
The weeping angel, in her sorrow, collapsed on the steps, with followers in her hand and the arm outstretched as if to place the flowers on top of his tomb.
Nobody knew where the angel came from, but her flowers were replaced by a stranger each time they died. She remained, stuck in time, for the rest of her days, until her energy ran dry and the weeping angel turned permanently to stone.
With her tears rolling down her cheeks and flowers in her hand.
