It wasn't your typical story, falling from the grace of God, banished but beautiful angels walking the face of Earth. It was painful. They were branded. Wings torn from flesh, souls ripped from their bodies but that wasn't the worst of it, no. The scars were the worst of it, the pain was the worst of it, this goddamn pile of garbage floating in space -- that was the worst, just being here.
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Oh, but the days of the Fallen did end indeed, no matter whether she covered the scars with clever trickery (magic, these mortals called it) or learned their languages with ease (a natural, they called her), or even if she pretended to learn their mannerisms and put on a pretty face every morning -- she was still a demon deep down, her flesh still crawled whenever any of them got close enough to breathe on her. What a horrible thing, breath.
Oh but there were benefits. Sex, drugs, alcohol. Of course her body didn't degenerate the way the mortals did, she could shoot more heroin than any man she knew and it took a case before she was even buzzed.
The serpent beneath her skin writhed though, it wouldn't be tamed, it wouldn't be sedated by any manmade drug.
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And then she met her match.
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Serpentine smiles, a demons grace and Lucifer's tongue.
Francesca was made to be the perfect redemption, hope for the fallen... but those on pedestals have further to fall.
And she goddamn splattered.
But Daemien was there to pick up the pieces, whether she knew it or not. Such a funny name for an angel.
