This is a story about a relationship between a human and an angel – a perfect monster, whose only prerequisite of existence is physical, whose aim is independence. I've seen him, I've touched him, but I'm too weak for him. I obey him, because I've got no choice. I am human – imperfect, full of ignorance, sickness and problems which I don't even want to correct. He gets energy from them and uses the energy from the body he lives in (is it his own will or not?) And the question is, as a mortal human, why am I still a part of him? What is general between me and him, our connection? It is he in the painting, and his eyes are a secret. He doesn’t allow me to paint his eyes. Maybe his eyes show something real, something awkward or imperfect. Maybe his eyes are secret weapons. Eyes are always the last and strongest weapons of all heroes.