One grey morning, there is a flash of lightning followed by a winged creature falling from the sky.

The Lord above is furious; betrayed.

From such a drop, surely it can't be alive anymore, yet it rises. His skin is pale and scarred, his long hair the same shade. The thing that stands out most is his inky black wings, charred and torn.

"Stay away—" he rasps, his eyes shifting from your perfect white wings as you instinctively try to tend to his wounds.