After thousands of years of service at the border between the worlds of the living and the dead, the angel who once guarded dreams can no longer hear the prayers. She is weary ,not of love, but of repetition. On a night without time, she drifts into the depths of the cosmos and settles upon a silent stone, slowly spinning in the void. Shee lights a cigarette made of light; with every breath, a new nebula blossoms within the darkness. The smoke takes the shape of memories , a newborn’s first cry, a woman’s whispered prayer, a warrior falling asleep in death’s embrace with a faint smile. She watches them all, without judgment, without tears. Only silence remains among the stars , a silence that reshapes the universe with each inhale and exhale. And perhaps, in that very moment, even God pauses... just to witness how one of His angels creates dreams out of light.🌌