I remember your blood spilling to the floor when He tore off your wings.
I remember the sound of each bone being snapped.
I remember the desperation in your cries, the look in your damned blue eyes pleading for help. Pleading me for help.

I tried to run to you, to heal your wounds and soothe your tortured soul, but the hands of Raphael held me still. He whispered softly into my ear, telling me that you deserved it, that you were not worth my sympathy or my pity. Or my love.
He kept me glued to the spot in front of you. You would look up and see me look down on you as the others did, as I swore I never would.

Afterwards, I would learn that that was your true punishment. But then, I didn’t know that that was the final straw that broke you, that transformed you to the blind creature of hate and rage, a creation that could be branded “defective” and thrown away.

An eternity later, I sit down beside the pool that looks into your world. I remember these things, and I wonder if this heaven really was worth you.