Stone Angel If only she could close her eyes to the stinging wind, the incessant cavalcade of happenings. She no longer thinks of what she sees, no more than you think of breathing. A century has passed like the many distractions of a peculiar day. And these thoughts, too, will be lost in a draining pool of ephemera. Nothing, not even her marble presence, escapes the patient, eroding wind, the rain of acid. Still, she is blessed with longevity, though it is also her curse. Despite those fine, feathered wings, she has no sanction to fly. by Michael Gates Poser/Bryce Angelyna - Blackhearted Daz - hair Wings - I thing they Hokusais wings (tell me if im wrong)