Free-falling down nine stories, Sofiel's feelings on this are as jumbled as the chaotic mess that are her thoughts. A good part of her thinks that she has made a huge mistake – the whispers of what-ifs reeling through her head in a constant circle of doubts and insecurities.

What if she's not ready? What if her body can't handle this yet?

What if her wings don't work?

But right as she's about to hit the ground, her instincts finally kick in.

One moment she's falling, mere seconds to face planting herself into gravel, and the next – she's airborne and flying.

With the warmth of the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, for the first time in a long, long time, Sofiel feels alive.

Laughter rips through her as she tumbles and spirals through the clouds, untethered and free. Her clothes are soaked through. And even though she just had a mouthful of cloud, water and ice, it doesn't bother her one bit. She feels on top of the world, like she can do anything and everything all at once.

It's all so vaguely reminiscent of a time long ago. Of a memory so distant, as ancient as the earth that the mortals walk on. A time when humanity had only scarcely begun to take their first clumsy steps. She and Samael would use to sneak down to the lower realm to soar away in the open skies like this.

Things were easier then. Father was a lot more lenient, and the mortals – a lot more simple-minded. Samael was happier. He was always laughing. Always smiling that wide toothy grin whenever Sofiel saw him. It was a known fact that he doted on her a lot, being his 'favourite' sibling and all. He would often bring her back flowers from the mortal realm that he thought were pretty, and regale her with stories of the silly mortals and their shenanigans after an expedition.

Things had been good. It was perfect.

And then the rebellion happened.

The flowers stopped – as did his stories.

Nothing was the same again.

Wings flapping mightily behind her, Sofiel glances down to survey the panoramic landscape of the mortal realm lying beyond and beneath her bare feet. It gives her pause for a brief moment as she skids to an abrupt halt, just as an equally startling thought enters her mind.

She can fly.

Granted, she's a little rusty around the edges, but she can still fly.

She peers up. Squinting past the shimmering veil that separates the mortal plane from the immortal, she sees the barest glimmer of the Silver City looming ahead.

Her heart leaps at the sight.

So close, yet so far.

But the choice still stands.

Sofiel can fly home if she wanted to. It would be within her reach. If she pushed herself just a little bit more, maybe work her wings harder. She could do away with all the mortals and their sins, once and for all.

Let them crash and burn through their own prejudice and cruelty, and never look back. She could beg Michael to put her on the administrative front in the Silver City. She knows they're under-staffed. What with everyone crowding to take on field missions in the mortal realm lately. She won't have to deal with the mortals for at least a century or two. It'll work out.

And then, she can put this all behind her like a nightmare that never happened.

But what about Abigail?

Sofiel stops short, her breath hitching.

Yes, what about Abigail.

After all that sweet girl has done for her, she at least deserves a proper goodbye from Sofiel. Also, she needs to figure out how to repay her for all the kindness she has showered her so far. Yes, it's only right.

She should go back.

'You'll regret it.'

The cloyingly sweet voice at the back of her head that sounds almost like Samael returns, and it stops Sofiel dead in her tracks.

'Go home,'  it whispers, like the quiet peal of bells chiming in the distance – soft and seductive. 'Go home... You'll never have a chance like this again.'

Glancing up at the heavens, feeling torn, Sofiel actually considers it for a split of a second.

But in the next moment, she's doubling over with a mind-numbing pain that downright sears, radiating from the spot over her right shoulder, and then she's falling again.

****

Hand clasped over her right shoulder with her nails digging deep into her burning flesh, Sofiel muffles an agonised cry through gritted teeth.

She doesn't need to see to know the cause of her sudden affliction.

Her stigma.

It's spreading.

Sofiel can feel it crawl, pulsing through her veins with every passing throb of pain. Can feel the claws of darkness sink further into her, tearing away at her skin and tendons till she's left raw and aching.

It hurts.

It hurts so bad. Her vision is spotting and blurring around the edge, and she's falling, falling, and falling.

Sofiel spends the greater half of her time trying to stave off the pain to no avail. When suddenly, she is suddenly reminded of the unmoving appendages on her back, and it spurs her into action.

She struggles to flap at her wings. A vain attempt to get them to work; to keep her adrift and somewhat air bound. But it is what it is – an attempt. It doesn't so much as break her fall, as it is merely slowing down her descend and her inevitable crashlanding.

At the end of the day, it doesn't change the fact that she's still spiralling to her doom at a breakneck speed.

She can see the concrete jungle of the city she and Abigail reside in zipping quickly into view now, and she knows she only has seconds left to act before hitting the cold hard asphalt. So, Sofiel tries again, and this time, a tortured bellow does escape her.

Her right wing is a gone case at this point, and she has barely any sensation in the right half of her body apart from the searing pain like someone has gone and lit half her body on hellfire. With great effort – and a whole lot of willpower – she manages to get her left wing moving, albeit weakly. But even then, she has hardly any control over herself as she haphazardly weaves through those tall buildings the mortals call 'skyscrappers', only narrowly missing them by such.

It's probably by her Father's grace that she hasn't careened into anything just yet.

But she shouldn't speak too soon about that.

Fly, Sofiel urges at herself, funnelling what left of her strength into her badly distorted left wing that is pounding from exertion and everything else. But even then, she's still not moving in the direction that she so desperately desires to – up.

"Fly, damn it!" Sofiel roars in agony, tears pooling, pricking the corners her eyes. The tendons along her neck bulges, pulling taut from effort. "Fly!"

Because in spite of everything, she's still falling.

She's nearly at ground level now, and the blaring horns and the flashing lights of the city are suddenly becoming all too much for Sofiel. It's a cacophonic mess on her senses and she can't tell left from right or up from down. Running on sheer instincts alone, Sofiel swerves through the passing traffic. But with her tears smudging her vision and the excruciating pain in her right shoulder, she feels like she's starting to develop tunnel vision.

An oncoming truck ploughs right into her then.

Sofiel wheezes. She sees white for a second, her head spinning, stomach churning. Though unharmed, the impact still manages to knock the wind right out of her lungs. She feels sick.

But before she can even catch her breath, a car slams into her. And in the next moment, Sofiel is crashing, hurtling straight through a wall.

And then, there is silence.