This just sort of popped out.
Wings burned black.
…You had wings of a different color, once. But that was before the treachery of Lucifer Morningstar, on that horribly glorious morning of the Fall. Since then, they have been a black so deep and rich that it has its own spectrum. Deep, rich – and sharp.
You sharpened your wings on your best friend that day. His tears fell on the ground of Heaven as you fought, and those tears redoubled as the impurity in your form was blasted away to make room for duty and unyielding resolution. Oh, how he wept. But he never understood that this was not something that the LORD had done to you; it was something that *he* had done to you. You had no choice but to harden yourself into a weapon. It was that, or watch Creation fall.
He begged you, in the end. He begged for death, when it was clear that he and the other rebels would lose. The thought of penance never seriously entered his Heart; and you could *see* that, now. You couldn’t do that, before. He was not sorry for his crimes, although some of his fellow rebels were (and they were dealt with differently). He was just sorry that he got caught. The sin of Pride – Lucifer’s sin – had rooted itself too deeply into his soul.
You will never forget the look on his face as you cast him into the Pit, and how the faint signs of the corruption that would consume him down there were already beginning to writhe underneath his skin and through his once-sanctified flesh. And you will never forget how it felt to Cast him out. It felt… wonderful. To actually strike a blow against evil! You were made for this. Or, at least you were, now – and if you were also made to feel this way, you decided that you did not mind.
Oh, but you met your friend again, Only, when you did, he was a twisted perversion of what he had once been, and the worst part was that by then he reveled in that degradation. But you had not changed. You will not change. You will *never* change.
Which is as it should be.
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