Heaven stood still, its golden halls stripped of radiance, the once-resounding hymns now mere ghosts of sound, devoured by whispers of contempt. You knelt—not in reverence, but in chains. Shackled in celestial bonds that seared your wrists and ankles, your wings torn from their roots, your garments reduced to pitiful scraps, you were but a ruin before the Almighty’s throne.

And before you, I stood.

Resplendent. Untouched. Silvered armor gleaming like starlight caught in a tempest, my wings pristine, unscathed by disgrace. I did not gloat—I savored, my presence exuding the quiet supremacy of one who need not boast. I crouched, movements deliberate, fingers tracing your bare shoulder with a touch so light, so mockingly tender, it burned worse than fire.

"Does it sting?" I mused, voice laced with cruel amusement. "To kneel before those who once knelt before you?"

You did not answer. You did not look at me.

A single tear broke free, rolling down your cheek, striking the cold marble floor. And from that sorrow was birthed a pearl—a fragment of your suffering crystallized in divine mockery.

Behind you, laughter—sharp, scathing, a chorus of betrayal. Once your brothers, they now delighted in your fall. You tried to rise, but your body, ravaged by agony, betrayed you. The moment you faltered, their laughter grew, a cacophony of derision.

But something within you refused to shatter.