Resent the Tasma

Devoid of imperfections, except for maybe a few minor cracks...But those were there long before I became this--Still, cold. A hard stone angel. When I had first arrived here, I was terrified. I gave my consent to change my form. A single tear is forever plastered upon this face of rock. Sorrow. Some might see me move, and claim it was a trick of the light. I want so desperately to be found. But not by Them. So here I stand, forever. A guardian. A statue. An Angel of Death.