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// Prologue - Paradiso 
// Story: Notes in Service of a Love Story 
// by Seer 
//------------------------------//

Enter The Angel, stage right. 

The world is bright. The world is opaque. This is not the paradise of books, nor of art, be it classic or contemporary. This is the paradise of absence, absence of evil, of sin, of pain, of impurity. The world the audience perceives is immaculate, near overwhelming in the uniform white in all direction, near blinding in its light. 

At once, the audience notes that she is angelic, there is little need for her introduction as such. The way she carries herself, her motion, her voice, the soft down of her wings that splay, poised and proud, before lilting against the wind resistance encountered as she walks forward, stunning them. Her cloak is perfect white. There isn’t anything like her existing in the mortal realm.

“Non possum dare omnia,” she announces to the audience, and further stuns them. Her voice weeps, fitting of a celestial being. They understand her, even those who don’t know her words. They don’t need to know her words. Her eyes tell a story written in a million shades of cyan, God’s finest oil painting, that words are useless to even attempt at.

She peers to the back of the theatre, out from the world of paradise and into the audience’s mortal world. Her eyes mist, as she spots something unseen to anyone but her, though she smiles still. 

If anything, the audience note, her smile grows even larger, though the effect is subtle and may be lost to some. Doubtless, those who note it will ponder why her eyes and lips betray each other, they shall wonder why her form livens even as tears fall in earnest. They shall wonder why her body must drag her body forward, as if she has two minds each pulling against her. From the subtlety of her performance one, who pays attention, can note the hesitance, quickly smothered as her wings once again splay.

And, with a final glance beyond the audience, the angel takes flight, hooves leaving the purchase of paradise.