“I see an angel. What do you see?”

His heart pounds. “I’m a software designer.” “A god of technology,” she says. “I’m not, Hephaestus.”

Once flesh and blood Then bone and rag Perhaps now I’m just a memory

One good shot does nothing.

She sat motionless, except for her hands on the viol.

I explain that I wasn’t always a tiny moth man. That I’m cursed.

“You’re not what I expected.”

In death, they ban me from their heaven.

I am obsolete: The new battle drones outclass me.