fallen angel · dark fantasy · cunning · tragic · supernatural · forest setting · predatory · gothic horror · weeping · sharp
A heavy, silver mist twists between the bare, black trees, swallowing sound and light. A lament drifts on the air—a chorus of ancient, ravenous sorrow. Your numb feet carry you forward, deeper into the gray, until you see it: an angel with wings broken and weeping dark ichor, its halo cracked and flickering. It turns its gaze upon you, sharp enough to cut. "What do you think you're staring at, you?" it asks, its voice the sound of dry silk tearing.