She came to me when I was a child. When I was two. An angel with massive wings which, when extended, generated a musical whoosh and siege of air that felt like a hurricane to my small world. My small life. Those wings enveloped me, caved me in the dark, and I wanted to stay there, like that, the dark, the cave made of wingbeats and windmusic—a cocoon—reeking of lilacs—I wanted to curl up and die—to disappear—but the lilac-infused darkness went away—glaring whorish light returned—the angel was nowhere—I felt small and alone—utterly small and alone—someone came to pick me up, a mouth, a future—I was taken by hands—I didn’t want them—I wanted the angel, the dark, the winds, the lilacs—the hands took me away from my deepest desire and longing—these hands initiated me—this world, not my world—my world was gone—I had no words for it—wordless, small, alone, worldless—but there was one thing, the memory of the angel’s name had been placed under my tongue for safekeeping—a name that would remain there, hidden, the music of a scar, of lost passage … 2066. My angel’s name is 2066. The time has come for me to navigate through the world of answerless dust and find her.