[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ .]
He came upon me with a sword of burning flame. Reds, oranges, yellows, whites blazing against the night sky, dimming the world to a shade darker than black. That sword of his posed high above his head; the tendons and ligaments of his arm stood out like bits of coiled rope, ready to loosen their burden upon the world.
He opened his wings behind him, widening his wide set shoulders and increasing his substantial size. Those white feathers glowed an array of the warmest colors as the flames from his sword flickered over the plumed canvas. They were like the moon, reflecting fire to create their own light in the darkness.
There was no stopping the destruction by his hand. He let lose that flaming sword upon me, his wings snapping shut to give more power to his thrust. I didn’t stand a chance against him and his glory, his hand destined to break me. I had lost any power to stop him long ago.
That, indeed, was his true power, not his flaming sword or his wings of light. His eyes held all the truth in the world and through them, the ability to strip your defenses down to walls of sticks and mud. All the barricades I had built to protect my treasure were nothing when caught in his gaze. I was vulnerable.
And with that first look, he destroyed any chance of me being content with my isolation. And with one sweep of his sword and flap of his wings, my heart was stolen from my chest like a jewel taken from a thief in the night.