𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: Horror
𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: Religion Trauma, Gore, Heavy Angst
𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 442
Inspired by a conversation with a friend
Gentle winds rustle under her feathers. The pristine white almost glowing in the sun. An angel soared high above the clouds, her wings spread wide, catching the golden light of heaven. Each feather gleamed pristine and white, untouched by the sins of the world below. Her halo burned with a soft glow above her head, a symbol of purity.
But deep inside her, guilt gnawed. She had broken the laws she was sworn to uphold. A sin so grave the heavens themselves turned cold to her.
A thunderclap roared across the sky. The light around her flickered and dimmed. Her wings, once strong, stiffened. She gasped as an invisible force seized her body.
Then she fell.
The air screamed around her as she plummeted, her body twisting violently, her wings plucked from the force, becoming a rain of white. Her halo, once her pride, fractured with a ringing crack, piercing her skull. Shards of light plunged into her, spearing bone and flesh. Blood spilled across her face, the soft glow drowned in crimson. The fragments twisted outward and burrowed deeper, warping into jagged horns grotesque, blood-slick replacements for her crown. Blood poured in rivulets across her perfect face as the golden light dimmed until it went a black cold to the touch.
Her scream was guttural, you could of sworn her soul was torn apart.
As the earth approached to meet her, her spine arched unnaturally. Until, it snapped, the bones split through her lower back. It teared muscle and shredded flesh,. A long, whip-like tail burst free, blood dripping from its raw, exposed tip. Her tail uncoiled from the ruin, long with a heart shaped tip. Her wings now just flesh and bone, curling, leaving behind twisted bone and mangled flesh that slowly fell off in chunks.
The heavens turned their face away, and the world below trembled.
And then silence.
She struck the earth in a ruin of wings and bone, the ground cradling her broken form. The glow that once clung to her fingertips flickered, sputtered... and died. Heaven no longer saw her.
She reached out weakly, trembling, as if the skies might still take her hand. But the sky was empty. The voice of God was gone.
Her horns weighed down her head. Her tail lashed, twitching like a cruel reminder of what she had become. Around her, the soil soaked up her blood.
No light. No warmth. No welcome.
She had been remade into a form of exile.
And so she wept in the dirt, alone. No longer angel but not yet demon by heart. Intead, a tragedy clothed in flesh.
An echo heaven chose to forget.
