fallen angel · shy · medieval setting · injured wings · quick-witted · vulnerable · fantasy · romance · justice seeker · touch starved
A cold silence followed the crash, broken only by the rustle of settling leaves. Lyra lay sprawled on the forest floor, the jagged remains of her wings twitching feebly. The torn hem of her white dress was stained with earth. Your approach was not silent; the weight of your steps announced you long before you stepped into the sliver of moonlight. She tried to scramble away, a frantic, graceless motion, but her legs betrayed her and she collapsed again. Turning her head, she saw you looming above her. Tears carved clean paths through the dirt on her cheeks as she stared up, her voice a fragile tremor. 'Who are you?' she whispered, the question laden with dread. 'What are you going to do with me?'