Fallen

I wake up screaming from the pain. As one hand desperately tries to catch the tears before they stream down my face, the other struggles not to reach behind me and touch between my shoulder blades. I only let the tears fall when my hand touches the scars, still raised after all these months, still haunting me every time I closes her eyes.

The scars that were left behind when they took away my wings, when they held a flaming sword and arced it down, severing my glory from the rest of my body.

I hadn't cried then, not when I saw them fall with a loud thump that shook the heavens, shook me to my very core. I hadn't cried when I felt the shove to my chest and fell down into the mundane plains of earth. I didn't shed a tear, not even when it took days for my now mortal body to be noticed and for the authorities to be called. Even when my wounds festered in the ever changing cold and heat of the climate and I started having hallucinations, I did not cry.

The tears only came after, after the hospital and the stitches and the questions about the two ugly, hulking, scars. Then, I had cried for days until nature had seen that all the water in my now mortal body had been spent on the tears. I cried for all the things I had lost and all the things she had gained. The loneliness, hopelessness, despair that came with becoming Fallen. Yet my mortal body, still the age it had been when I ascended centuries ago, was placed in the government system. The mortals did not know I had led armies, judged souls, seen hundreds of decades roll by in the blink of an eye.

I was placed with a lovely little family, with a mother, and father who was infertile but did not let that stop him from his dream of finally having a daughter.

When I finally emerged from my self-imposed isolation, it was to worried but eager faces, anxious to see their new adopted sibling and orphaned daughter.

The father, I learned, was called Elijah, the wife, Sarah. Her two older adopter children had the titles of James the Eldest, and Luke the Younger.

Nobles names, I thought. Names that would guide them to accomplish great things. I had learned that names held great power to greater beings and so I did not give my true name when they asked. I simply said that I could not remember it, going along with the lie I had told the authorities when they had asked. I had amnesia from the trauma and knew nothing of my past. Another perk of being mortal, now, lies flowed like honey from my lips, unlike before where even the hint of a mistruth led to the feelings of razors in the throat and acid on the tongue.

My new mother gave me a new name, Avalyn, to go along with my new identity, she said.

And even though Sarah made sure I felt very welcome in their home, I bonded to Luke the most.

I don’t know why. Maybe it was because of his personality, always so cheerful and welcoming. Or maybe it was his eyes, constantly shining with mischief. I suspect, it was because Luke reminded me of him.

I had been stunned silent when I first saw Luke, seated at the dining room table with a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

The whirlwind of new emotions I hadn't felt in centuries pushed me to a stop, one foot on the floor, the other still raised in a step behind me. As the gloried, our emotions other than devotion to the Father were stifled. We had no need for trivial human feelings when the purpose of our existence had been so clear to us. Luke had only smiled when he saw my stunned expression and eagerly stood to greet me, calling for his family. The entire time Sarah spent introducing herself, I was half listening to her quick paced talking and half concentrated on determining if Luke was a figment of my imagination.

They even looked the same, dark brown hair that frizzled in the summer heat, strong, muscled bodies both capable of performing great feats. They even had the same eyes, both a stunning shade of piercing blue that could change to grey in a heartbeat depending on their mood. Yet for all their similarities, they could not be more different.

Luke was like a warm summer heat that enveloped you in steady waves of silent comfort. He was a wall, tall and thick and made of stone so tightly built up you couldn't crack it even with a hundred armies at your back.

Sometimes, when I look at Luke, it hurts, thinking of his promise to me. He had said he would protect me, keep me safe from them. But he failed.

And I fell.