Angels are God’s children, not his favorite and not his most hated. They’re supposed to represent light and goodness. Instead they are monsters. Vicious beings. They strive to obey, to disregard any “feelings”, to be as inhuman as possible. Then there are the fallen angels. The ones who are cast out of Heaven and into Lucifer’s rule. Their wings are pulled from their back and pushed into the Earth. These fallen angels know no bounds. They run through Hell, the red, sticky blood dried onto their back. They are driven crazy from the loss of their wings and the soulless beings in the underground. Then there are the angels like me. The ones that are cast down onto the Earth. We aren’t fallen but we aren’t full, respected angels that we once were. They call us The Disgraced. We aren’t fully stripped from our wings, but we lose our golden feathers, the sign for hope. With our feathers gone, our wings are nothing but giant, black skeletons. Our powers weaken but don’t disappear. We are left for a life on Earth, hidden in the shadows.