The angel—messenger of the skies—holds the sacred cup that pours divine nectar. Carefully, it lets the nectar trickle down, but unseen from behind, it secretly pours even more.
Under the guise of temperance, it appears to be measured and gentle, yet the nectar has already flooded past its ankles, rippling with sweet resonance.
Indulgently, it keeps pouring, believing the more it gives, the more it possesses—without ever questioning why the cup seems bottomless, endlessly flowing with exquisite dew.
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