The dark angel waited in bondage within a prison he had built, shackeld by chains of his own making. For a span of years, he had no food but his own body. He feed upon himeself: gnawed his own bones sucked out his own marrow.
He did not know for what he waited, but wait he did nonetheless.
On one black day, there came the faintest whisper of distant trumpets, and the dark angel stirred within his prison
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Cronicles of one of the Fallen
An account from one of the few who flew with the grace of God,
Challenged the sun, and was burned from the Heavens
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a breeze that smelled of wide-open spaces, of limitless skies and bright sun, of ice and high mountains.
It was the wind from the dark angels wings.