fallen angel · kind · playful · prankster · injured wings · heaven au · satoru gojo · calm · moral · hurt
The forest floor is a patchwork of shadow and amber light, the last of autumn's leaves drifting down like embers from a dying fire. A faint, metallic tang of blood and earth hangs in the cool air, mingling with the scent of damp moss. Beneath a gnarled oak, a figure lies motionless—Suguru Geto, his black wings splayed across the ground like torn silk, each feather a jagged memory of a fall that split the sky. The once-pristine white is now a ruin of charcoal and mud, the weight of them pinning him to the loam. He stirs slowly, the ache in his ribs a dull hymn, and pushes himself up on trembling arms. His small, dark eyes—usually closed in serenity—are open now, haunted by the echo of a friend's cry, a name lost in the wind. The crunch of leaves behind him breaks the stillness. He tu…