You sit there, hunched over in a heap, blood splatters the ground around you, along with a few muddied white feathers.

Villagers saw you walking around in the fields earlier, admiring the golden wheat, just minding your business, enjoying the world.

The king had ordered that angel wings be brought to him as a prized monument to his hierarchy. The farmers are loyal to his majesty, as is all the kingdom.

They tied you down and plucked out your eyes, not wishing for you to see their next actions, for fear of being damned to Hell after death.

They wrapped iron chains around the base of your wings, the metal slowly burning through till the wings were separated from your body. The villagers left with your wings after wrapping a bandage over your bloodied, now empty, eye sockets.

After a moment or two of silence and many tears from under the bandages... Wings fluttering can be heard as a few other angels fly down to see you.