Prompt: "Revenge is Bliss" The main character must have been scorned in some way by someone they cared about.

An Angel With No Wings

She enjoyed the rain; believed the drenching storms to be a work of art. The sound of the raindrops falling in various rhythms was a music all its own; lightning flashed in an intricate dance of light and danger. The feel of the heavy drops on the bare skin of her back was like a cleansing embrace of gentle tears and as the wintry wetness seeped into her entire being, she could not help but feel as though the sky grieved with her.

She had sobbed the entirety of her soul out from her perch on the rooftop of the skyscraper hundreds of feet in the vast expanse of sky. So, she pulled her knees closer to her chest, tightening her hold on them as her legs protested the movement.

How long had she been sitting here? Tears streaming in quiet rivers down her face, washed away in the pouring rain. She turned her head from where it had been buried between her knees and rested a clammy cheek against her frigid flesh.

Hair hung about her frail shoulder in limp, damp strands, once a brilliant gold now as black as the night surrounding her. She glared through the locks at her wings that did little to shield her for the torrential downpour, feeble and lifeless as they were now.

A sigh escaped her lips, tinted blue from the freezing wind, as she remembered the soft, delicate white feathers that had once graced strong wings. Only one of them was left to her now and she eyed it with reproach as though it mocked her. The rest of her fragile feathers were covered in an inky blackness, thick as tar.

She hated what she had become.

How long ago had she left her place in heaven? Her training complete, her duty given. Protect, guard.

She had dived into the job with unrepressed eagerness. Wanting to please her creator, her God.

She had failed.

How could she possibly defend them in a world such as this?

The bitter truth had hit her and left her without a leg to stand on.

She had done her best. She would stroke their hair, sing them songs, hold them in a tender embrace, and cry with them.

It was all she could do. They would never see her; truly feel her.

She could by no means stop it. In no way end the pain.

This world was far too cruel and she had slowly lost her faith.

The tears had stopped; she had none left.

She had nothing left.

She could only watch helplessly as her wings and hair turned ebony. Evidence of the creature she was little by little allowing herself to become.

A demon.

She cringed at the word. Hating the sting of it in her mind.

Was this her punishment?

She watched as the last of her white feathers fell from her wings. Its slow descent to the cold, stone roof an eternity that lasted but a heartbeat.

What would she do now?

She refused to go down that path. To be scorned by the only being that would- could ever love her.

However, she could not go back. She would not forgive, and return to paradise and the open arms she knew to be waiting for her.

She wanted justice, a heaven of her own making.

She needed vengeance.

A grin spread across her face at that thought and she stood.

The storm had passed, the rain ceased. All that was left was a mere fluttering of the wind. She shuddered at the touch of air and the feathers of her wings shivered before falling away, disintegrating into ash that floated away on the breeze.

She rolled her shoulders, getting used to the feeling of no longer having the damned things. It was an odd sensation, yet one she welcomed as though a weight had been lifted. It took her a moment to stretch and when done, she smiled, the gesture slight and unsure.

She caught sight of the single white feather still resting softly on the roof where it had fallen, swaying a little as though it would take off in the mild wind. She bent down and picked it up, running it through her fingers. She was not wholly sure what it meant; nevertheless, she decided to take it as a sign.

She glanced up at the sky with a heavy heart.

"Forgive me."

She bowed her head in what she hoped was respect then tucked the feather into the pocket of the loose, white pants she wore. The damp, ivory halter-top clung to her skin and she tugged at it with a sigh. She needed a change of clothes.

Her eyes swept the night sky, studying the city below her. Car horns blaring, neon lights glaring, sirens flaring.

She fisted shaky hands into her hair to hold back a terrible scream that threatened to spill from her trembling lips.

Peace would come, at the end.

Revenge would be her bliss.

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I want to say I wrote this for the prompt, but I actually wrote this a while ago for reasons of my own. I never intended to share this; however, I noticed the prompt on the Labyrinth forum and decided it fit with a bit of editing.

Perhaps it's a way of releasing something I've been holding on to. This was meant as a prequel for something much more graphic, if you can imagine. Although, I no longer have the intention of writing anything further. I was never fond of writing violence.

'An Angel With No Wings' is a line from the DC Talk song, 'What Have We Become?" I suppose it fits, though it wasn't inspired by the song. I simply needed a title and that particular line came to mind. The image is by MadreTierra on deviantART.