Everyone knew about it by now. It had been a harsh battle, the one some angels had been sent to when a small group of sinners were causing too much havoc in hell and had to be controlled. Some were injured, but without doubts Dazelle have had the worst part of it.

Her wings had been chopped off of her body, the roots being destroyed so no new ones would grow. The healing angels could only do so much, opening her back and inserting the wings, sewing them to her skin and trying to tie the nerves between both parts. She couldn’t move them properly, but at least she still could have them.

Once the operation had been finished, she had locked herself in the cloudy house she stayed in. No one dared visit, afraid of her reaction as she had acted up ever since. Except one individual, who presented themselves at her door with a soft knock and entered.

Dazelle’s form was visible once they entered, crouched in her bed with her back facing the open door and the visitor. The scars on her back and the sewed injuries stood out, an ugly blemish among otherwise flawless features. “Don’t look at me…”