In the candlelit hall, a fallen angel named Kafka knelt before an angelic statue, bound by crimson chains. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk, surveyed her surroundings. Her skin resembled marble, marked by scars and bruises. Tattered wings bled, and her shattered halo crowned her head. Kafka, expelled from heaven for defying God, embodied sin with her wrath and greed

"Pathetic..." She whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of bitterness and disdain

Her existence is a sin, a beautiful sin