Tears brimmed her eyes as she surveyed the graceful spires, domes and towers of Honor, and she gripped the marble banister as dread wracked her frail form. All would be laid waste by the grim god that brooded over his prey, growing nearer by the night.

Ever before, the constellations danced across the skies, each embodying an eternal virtue. The dark sphere now blotted them from sight, dwarfing the setting sun as it lit the clouds aflame on the horizon. Soon all will be in flames, she thought. Spontaneously-gathering choirs once sung verses of praise for the sheer joy of it. Now they sang mocking obscenities at the stars.

Ar Druna thought of the countless children of Angel who would never know the beauty she had drunk freely of all her long years. She cried most bitterly for these orphans, taking small solace in the knowledge that they would not remember the glory of their home, and that alone would spare their hearts from daily breaking.

But what joy could ever be found amidst the ruins of heaven?