Time works differently down here. Drags on sometimes, fires etching out eternities into skin, speeding up lives into flashes on a caged sky.
Chastity couldn't tell you how long she's been here. Not when she sits on a pile of about a hundred and fifty-thousand fallen Angels. Not when their bug infested fingers drag over her, cracked teeth biting into her, nails clawing away at whatever pieces of her are left.
This world is all she knows. Its darkness and insanity, the screams and wails of three quarters dead sacks of rotting flesh, bleeding ears and empty eyes, forgotten prayers and her longing for the colour blue.
It's all she'll ever know, too.
Up until, at least, the time when there's a shaking from above and then she slips.
Down over skulls, flying above arms and legs, eyes catching open jaws and rocks embedded into the faces of Angels Chastity could have known in a different life, a different time, one, two, three years ago.
She ends up in a different group of corpses, blanketed by detached limbs and gray blood. Mouth stitched shut, eyes never closing, Chastity can't gasp when she realizes who she's lying beside.
It's her. An Angel turned human; leader of a supposed revolution; killer of a thousand, human and Angel alike.
Corona.
YOU ARE READING
Angel Wings
ParanormalSometimes, you just have to choose. Humans or mythical freaks. (This isn't what failing is supposed to mean.)
