Aneetha

They say that this city was made by Angels, and sometimes I am almost inclined to agree. The graveyard is filled with them, weeping stone tears from blank eyes, hands spread wide in supplication, or clasped in grief. They fill this city. Watching from rooftops and doorways. Clinging to the corners of old buildings or sitting silent in hidden courtyards, guarding the ruined tumbles of houses no-one ever bothered to rebuild. Stone angels watching over a city of dust and ashes. Choked with the burning of a thousand fires, the soot still clinging to the church-towers that ring out with the mournful pealing of bells. Many wars have passed throu