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Around the ministry, rumors about ghouls — new and old, are always swarming around amongst the dozens of siblings that reside within the building. The weeping angel happens to be one of them. It leaves siblings either afraid, intrigued, or sympathetic. Why? It’s just the average human reaction, isn’t it? Nobody reacts the same after-all.
A ghoul around the ministry with beauty unlike no other, many mistake the ghoul for a woman. Although, they don’t identify as either a man or a woman. Moving with such elegance and grace, you’d mistake them for an angel.
This ghoul was Zephyr. The Ghost projects previous keyboardist, now a keyboard instructor around the ministry; at least during daylight.
Their appearance so elegant, like how you’d imagine a greek god or goddess in person. A beautiful ghoul indeed. Pale skin, cloudy grey eyes, pale and soft lips, small and soft feathers around their body, a slim slightly soft tail with a feathery spade upon the end, and wings so large, so beautiful that were once a pure white.
The siblings always wondered why the air ghouls of the ministry have wings, only angels have wings after all. They’d murmur and mumble amongst each other, why do they have such beautiful wings if they’re demons?
It’s simple, really. Those who inherent the Air element weren’t always ghouls. But instead, pure and holy angels that once walked amongst the heavens.
As to why Zephyr lost their heavenly place up above? Nobody knows.
Amongst the night among the ministry and its residents, Zephyr likes to walk about the graveyard a little ways before the forest. They hum under their breath, a tune so unfamiliar to those of the living. The more they walk, the louder their song becomes. So beautiful and heavenly that it lures out siblings in the dead of night. To the living, Zephyr’s beautiful songs sound like weeps of a mourning being, a being so heartbroken, so grief-filled and distraught.
Zephyr continues to walk through the graveyard, knowing of the siblings who trail behind them. They wear a cloak, a long silky black cloak that trails behind them. Covering their ghoulish features and making them seem more human without the appearance of a glamour.
When the siblings they lure finally catch up to them, they freeze and drop one of the many lanterns they always have during the nightly walks. They turn around and the hood of the cloak falls, revealing a hellish beast with features of an angel, their giant wings unravel from their closed position and open so elegantly, the siblings always freeze at the sight.
There are always new graves by the mornings, and the siblings that are lured are never seen again. Not until their names are seen upon a headstone.
After all, an angels lullaby isn’t always sung with a holy intent. And the ministry will remain weary of their own weeping angel.