They run with effortless grace, their bodies glowing with health and vitality—a stark contrast to the world below. Each movement stirs the cottony mist beneath their feet, sending ripples through the sky. These are the beautiful, strong, and youthful, unburdened by earthly flaws, their eyes alight with curiosity and gentle amusement.
Below, the figures of murderers, wizards, snowmen, perverts, liars, dogs, the disgusting, the timid, and thieves are visible. They scurry through grimy alleyways, secret chambers, and wintry forests, each lost in their own obsessions and fears. The contrast between the purity above and the chaos below is striking; the young ones whisper among themselves, their voices carrying melodies of empathy and warning.
Lira, the boldest among them, leans closer, her golden braid catching the light. "What drives them to such darkness?" she wonders aloud. Her companions shake their heads, some with sorrow, others with a hint of scorn, yet none turn away from the spectacle.
Darian, tall and thoughtful, lifts his gaze. "We once walked below, too," he says softly. The others nod, remembering the weight of envy, shame, and fear. The celestial plain seems less distant now, the barrier between above and below thinner than it appeared.
The droplets touch the faces of the lost and broken below, bringing moments of clarity, warmth, and, for some, the courage to change. The young ones above smile, not with pride, but with understanding—a silent promise that beauty and strength can be offered, not only possessed.
As the sun rises, the divisions between the pure and the impure blur just a little, hope threading through both realms. The story of watchers and the watched continues, a dance as eternal as the sky itself.
