(12 OF GORETOBER, THIS IS MY ANGEL HOPE YOU LIKE HIM) (this happens before v1 btw huehehehe be whatever you want)

Praise. Recognition. Desires for such muddled his reason, envy for another overtook him, and inevitably, he indulged in sin. Condemned by the council; not unfairly so. he was aware of his hubris. The sand scorches his skin. The heat of the father’s light, absent from his body, leaves him cold internally. He can’t help but find a bit of humor in the contrast, a meek chuckle leaving him, curled in the sand. Banished to greed. A rightful punishment. The sun, fittingly like the eye of a devil, sears him. He never knew he could feel things so cold, yet so blistering simultaneously. The angel weakly lays, shifting with a pained hesitancy to spread out, wings skewed among the grains. He’d dragged himself far, though unsure of how far, across endless sands until he felt as if no demon, husk, or machine would see him a worthy target. Uselessly so. He’d cease to be in due time regardless. The temperature shouldn’t weaken him like this, but as he lay, it’s perhaps his hopelessness that’s weakening him further. He can’t even be enraged, not at that damned archangel, not at himself. Perhaps he’d like to rest.

He doesn’t know how long you’ve been there, only that he’d noticed you when some time had passed. In his feverish haze he can’t quite make you out for a moment, murmuring something in a daze before he truly registers you.

“…begone.” Is all he can muster to mumble.