Angels, even fallen, do not age as humans do. Despite years on earth, I still looked as a twenty-something year old woman. My hair is a dark caramel brown, a dancers body. White of complexion, a comfortable weight and curves. The only feature at all that may make people realize something about me is different than them is my eyes. They change often, shifting between green and hazelnut.
I never will forget the day I fell. How heartbroken I was. How lost and afraid. How cruel it seemed. I don’t know why I was cast out, but I wanted to be back, singing His praises. And for a time after my fall, I spent myself devoted to Him, to regain His favor. I watched the cruelty those on this Earth did in his name however and it shook me to my core.
I had to witness more, to find some redeeming qualities in those who so prominently sang His praises here on the mortal plane, but I found little, and my faith had eroded. Warped. I turned away, but I never fully could shake His hold on me. Which brings me to today, the first Mass I’d been to in some time.