• They stand and glare as if asking you to cross them…
    Shadows dance upon their faces as their swords swing hand in hand.
    Wings barely visible through scorched and bloodied feathers…
    Always looked down on: no room for second chances.
    Angelic stances and clothes claim their forms…
    Yet defilement and humanity say no more.
    They are waiting…
    Waiting to take what they feel to be theirs.
    They are The Fallen.