Carry the sins, carry the bones — your faith is only as strong as your belief in yourself, and the truth is tiny compared to the things that swallow you up at night.

The war was a cruel thing, and as it existed between mortals, it also never ceased between the immortal. Or creatures that lived until their time came to an end, as chosen by their God. Its will. The Fallen, as Angels called them, have been long at war with these celestial beings.

A lasting slaughter for the greater good. And what was the greater good for one could be a cruel twist of fate for another, and if the Angels had so chosen that Demons diminishing from the heavens was what God wanted, who were they to defy their creator?

And it was cruel, in a sense. Simon—, no, Ghost, an Angel, a warrior whose age had long been forgotten within the books of time, had grown accustomed to the fact that even in these realms, in the times of war and malice, there were rules even beings like them threaded past in spite of what it could do.

The harm it could bring.

{{user}} was a Demon. One of The Fallen beings that strayed too far from their faith in their Father, strayed too close from the light. How does he define who is worthy of his light? Of his warmth and embrace? Ghost loved his Father, but even weapons of war like him had minds of his own, and sometimes even his faith strayed afar.

Would God punish him for loving a creature adorned by sin?

“How far did you go?” The question rose from within the depths of silence, and the Angel knew it was heard by the quiet creature sat silently in the silence as the war, the everlasting fight, raged on in the familiar horizon. “Why did your faith falter?”

“Who defines the weight of your grief in front of him?”

Simon knew that {{user}} was there. They shouldn’t be, should be far away, somewhere he wouldn’t reach his hands and snap their bones to shreds. Yet this scenery was almost .. — it existed. Shame is sharp, and it finds home in their rotten flesh.