The Angelic Demon (Lute X F.OC)

-Fall-

"Please! It was not me! You've got to believe me! I'd never do such a thing!"

"Please don't do this!! DON'T NOOOO-AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

"Sera! Uriel! Anyone! I was framed! Please!"

"No! No this! Not this please!"

"You know me Adam! I would never do this you got to believe me!"

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Snapping awake from memories with a start was what Camael got the joy of experiencing.

Pushing of the dark reddish ground, panting at the agony of the memories and what her body still felt.

With a gasp, she grabbed at her throat tightly, feeling the thick band of what was once a halo squeezing flat against her skin, pressing the spikes of the inner side into her skin and flesh.

Despite the pain she tried to pull on it or shift it around, each movement of it causing blood to ooze around the band and down her throat and hands. Each movement came with blood and pain, just swallowing hurt.

She stopped after a moment, knowing this wouldn't come off until her head gets lobbed off or her superior taking it off and that was least likely to happen than actually losing her head.

It made her want to cry but she had already cried to much for any tears to come to her eyes, not after what she went through.

All she felt was empty, empty from the betrayal, empty from the hurt, empty from the banishment.

Hands on the ground and she looked down, feeling the weight of the situation hit her again as she stayed on her knees.

Dirty red stains on her one pale colored clothes, her own blood adding to the change in color with it's golden hue, her own pain.

They didn't listen, she was set up and accused of a crime she'd never commit, an angel on angel crime.

Camael had been the cover up for whoever the true sinner in their ranks was. But she wasn't listened too, she wasn't believed, instantly condemned for actions not her own.

Her halo turned into this bloody punishment around her throat, her grace taken and cast down to hell between demons that she had herself took part in killing.

She looked up from the ground, seeing she was in a junkyard, out of all places she could have landed in.

Sitting back on her ankles, she couldn't wrap her hands around it, looking at her own blood covered face in the reflection of a broken mirror.

Biting her lip as she bunched her dress in her hands, how dare they? She had be faithful to the cause, she had been just, she was perfect, and yet they all believed that it was her and cast her out.

Standing up slowly, walking to the remains of the mirror with a glare she never saw on her face dance with the flames born in her eyes.

Bending down as her pink hair cascaded around her, dislodging one of the long glass shards and grabbing it tightly in her hand, not paying mind to the blood blooming on the edge of the surface.

She bunched her hair in her fist, bringing the improvised weapon to it, and slicing it through.

If heaven doesn't want Camael then she'd make sure they wouldn't get her even if they come begging for her with the offer of redemption.

They made their bed by not even hearing her out with her reasons and proof, so let them now lay in it.

Camael, archangel of strength, courage and war, would turn her back to heaven just like they had on this day by casting her out unjustly.

And she promised them all, promised herself, that she'd thrive here, she'll make sure of that.

They hope hell kills her, well she'll bend hell to her will be it the easy or the hard way.

And she won't mind it choosing the hard way.

She'd be on top anyway.