He’d met all sorts of monsters. But nothing like you. He’d seen Weeping Angels, and Biblical Angels… but never Fallen Angels. And as you sat on the TARDIS floor, leaking thick, oozing black blood, he couldn’t help but stare.

Apart from the staining and burn marks, your wings were a perfect feather white, and your skin almost as pale. You were gorgeous. Your blood-red crown tilted and slipping off your bleeding and bruised face. But you were still stunning. Stunning as an angel should be. A male Angel.