"This one is flawed," echoes words from outside the crater, the voice that speaks them one that you know deep down you should recognise, yet despite how familiar it is, how it rings in your mind with authority, you cannot place name nor face to it. The voice, one you know to be masculine continues, cold and unattached, "Leave it where it fell."
With that, the sound of feet, followed by fluttering fading into the distance tells you of the departure of those that had come to find you, telling you that those that knew you have merely discarded you. You feel nausea, the fact that you have been discarded, left to die alone causing fear to grip you. Your eyes come to focus on the outstretched arm before you, focused on the pale skin that sheathes it, on the red substance that leaks from beneath it.
You are damaged, injured.
You were not unscathed by the fall.
Your attire, attire that you barely remember being garbed in during your fall is for the most part gone, burned away and destroyed by the fall, though enough of it remains to keep you covered. Enough at least to prevent a sensation of shame, a sensation that you are aware would follow, should your slender form have been indecent. You are slender, with the curious red substance that leaks from beneath your skin mixing with the soil that you fell against plastered to your skin.
You ache all over, yet you know that you should be in a worse state than this, that the fall should have killed you. Your one hand moves to your head, to brush your hair aside out of habit, prompting you to pause as you feel that what you expected to find is absent. You had hair, you are certain of this fact, yet there is none there now.
Habit.
You had a habit of brushing your hair aside before you set yourself to whatever task was at hand, you know this thought to be true, though you do not know how.
Slowly, you drag yourself from the crater, both of your legs drawn uselessly behind you, the dull pain from them telling you that they're broken. Dull pain, that you knew should have been many times more intense than it was. None of this made sense to you, the fact that you had been born fully formed in the skies above a planet, the fact that you had fallen so far and survived, the fact that you had been left to die by those that knew you.
Left, as if you were nothing, expendable.
It takes you what feels like forever to pull yourself from the crater, with every passing moment having you feel weaker. As you feel the cool air against your exposed back, the sensation of fluid running, cooling against it. Two points on your back ache, two points that you can feel even now, flutter helplessly, reduced to little more than stumps.
The sun greets you as you reach the lip of the crater, sunlight bathing you, washing over you with warmth that even now fills you with delight, before you slump forward, helpless as you collapse half of your body still dangling in the crater below.
The sight before you burned into your mind as thought fades is the lush green land before you, the mountains, the hills, the forest, the river and the sun.
That beautiful sun, that you have never seen anything like before.
When you awaken once more, awaken to this strange new world, awaken from injuries that you know should have spelled your end, the sun is behind you, sinking behind the horizon. Two moons hang in the sky above you, stars steadily fading into view as the light from that brilliant sun fades.
The pain that you felt has faded somewhat, replaced now by a near constant, yet dull ache, though as your eyes focus once more on the world before you, you become aware of the fact that you are not alone.
"The elder was right, angels rained from the skies!" comes one voice, a voice that is excitable and young. The term, angel, familiar as it feels, it does not feel correct in relation to you.
"His... Her.... Their wings are missing and the attire they wear is strange." comes another voice, this one nasal.
"It... It is looking at us," stammers the first voice, "Those eyes, we should not linger, that super-natural green..."
"No, they are hurt, it would be wrong of us to leave them here." comes a third voice, this one gruff, yet seemingly warm.
These people, these strange people that stand before you, these wingless beings that you would have found laughable at any other time speak with words that you understand, yet somehow you feel threatened by them. Somehow, these harmless looking beings fill you with fear.
"I... I..." you start, your voice hoarse, yet decidedly femanine, a voice that has these figures pause, the largest of them moving before you, kneeling as it brings itself close. The figure leans down, close to you as it brings a face pitted with age close to you, a face weathered by the seasons, a face in what you see wisdom and compassion.
"What is it, angel?" comes that gruff yet warm voice "We shall not harm you, do not be nervous."
"We need to get back, before the skies change," hisses the first voice "Leave it, if we're caught out when they change, you know what shall happen!"
You were nervous. You were afraid of these people, harmless as they appeared. Their attire was simple yet strange, loose fitting cloth, concealing no doubt any number of weapons.
Deep down, something screamed at you, telling you that this was the enemy, that these people were not to be trusted, that your only chance to survive was to do so alone.
You were not like them, they knew this. You were not like them, and so you feared them.
What were you to say, to do?
Author
Topic: Descent (Read 7472 times)