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What happened to Raphael?

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His once golden curls were burnt and stained with blood to a permanent crimson. The halo that once hovered over the soft coils now sat on his head, its edges sharp. It seemed to have been split into thousands of pieces, only to be put back together with some missing. Parts stuck out and tangled in his hair like a crown of thorns.

He wore a familiar suit, but the jacket seemed to have been lost millennia ago. The vest's middle was stained golden, and the hole pierced in it showed his abdomen, but there was no wound.

His eyes stared through them, cold and warm and so much more. They held stars, galaxies. They were thousands of colours, but none of them conflicted with the others. When one looked in his eyes, they felt the universe staring back. So tiny in the vast ocean of time, but so important.

He stared, and the universe stilled for him.