In continuing my journey of fleshing out Angelarium as an angelic encyclopedia, I'm revisiting Suphlatus, Angel of Dust.

Suphlatus built a growing collection of halls and spires that cracked the desert horizon. Each one, it’s own a jagged landscape. Every day, men would witness the Angel’s latest creations and each night they would cheer as he brought them down. As this cycle became commonplace, the only fanfare came at their destruction. 

As children, we tear at flowers and rip the limbs from trees. Their transformation excites us. It’s only later that we learn that these changes are permanent. A thing comes into our world and then, with our own hands, we usher it away. Unmaking it. We live peacefully alongside the cycle of creation and annihilation. It passes us by. It’s only natural.