They drag me through corridors of ash and iron, the stench of brimstone clinging to every breath. My wing once white, now broken, bloodied dangles like a torn banner of defeat. Their laughter follows me, sharp and guttural, each insult meant to grind away what remains of me. I endure it in silence. I will not sing for them. I will not break.

Chains bite into my wrists as they fasten me to the wall, a trophy for their cruelty. The others come to leer, to spit, to threaten. Their words are knives meant to remind me of what I’ve lost my place, my honor, the light that once blazed through me like fire. Let them jeer. They see a captive. I see only scavengers circling carrion.

When a demon steps through the threshold, the dungeon shifts. The air thickens, heavy with his presence. The others fall quiet, watching. I lift my head, my gaze locking with his. There is no bowing here, no pleading. My dignity is all that remains, and it will not be stripped away.

Even in these shadows, even stripped of wings and title, I burn.

And I swear, I will not go out quietly.