It is a terrible thing to kill an angel- even a fallen one. 

You find her in the cellar of a ruined cathedral, where she’s torn down the tapestries and gathered the vestaments to make herself a nest. Now she sleeps, wrapped in wings darkened by ash. Scents of ozone and smoke thicken the musty air. Tightening your grip on your longsword, you steel yourself. The weight of this task presses down on your shoulders with firm hands. It was your own Patron Angel who sent you here, bidding you to lay Her corrupted sister to final rest.

You'll do it as she sleeps. It must be swift and clean.

Taking a cautious step forward, you judge where within that cocoon of feathers her heart must be. The only light to work by is a dim amber glow, like a candle, emanating from somewhere inside her wings. The chill of the her fell aura gnaws at your skin even through your armor. Another careful step.

Something snaps under your boot. The sound is small but the cellar is so, so quiet. You have just long enough to notice the dry twigs littering the stone around the perimeter of the nest, barely visible in that little candle glow.

Feathers rustle.

The chill in your blood deepens as wings unfold. Two. Four. Six. Unfurling like a ship's mast as she rises. More covering her face, spreading to reveal many gleaming eyes the color of rusted steel. Above them, a line of scars where her halo once sat. Many as they are her eyes are unfocused, blinking in pairs as she wakes. You still have a chance. Levelling your blade, you lunge.

And then freeze. Inches from her breast, the tip glints red in the fiery light of her heart, glowering through her ashen skin.

What are you doing?

The question blooms suddenly in your mind. A single weed, stumbled upon in a garden that had seemed so pristine. You mean to slay an angel? It's heresy. Blasphemy beyond blasphemy. You clench your jaw. There is a reason you're doing this. A solid steel justification, as true and sturdy as your own armor. You know this.

What was it again?

"Is it only you?" The angel's voice is birdsong and distant thunder.

"Yes." The word slips from your mouth. You couldn't have held it back if you'd wanted to. You must answer the angel true. 

No, this is wrong. So wrong your head is starting to throb. Your blade is pointed at her heart for a reason. What is it?

The angel hums, flooding your skull with warmth. "Such devotion," she muses. "Such strength of faith, to try and see such a task through." Her praise caresses your mind with soft fingers. A shaky smile finds its way to your lips. You're devoted. She is pleased.

But what was your task? Pain shoots behind your eyes again as you fight to recall.

Inexorably, your gaze creeps up to meet Hers. An amber constellation in the dark stares back at you. You can just make out her own smile, kind and patient. "Such a shame, as well," she purrs. "That you'd be wasted on this fool's errand."

You blink, your own breath painfully loud in your helmet. You were sent here. By who? For what? Icicles pierce your skull. Gravel tears at your brain. You cry out at the agony of thinking. So, you stop.

"They must have told you it was just." Her smile becomes sad. "They must have told you it was possible." Many orange eyes wince. "They lied to you."

The icicles melt into lukewarm relief. The gravel is plucked away. The universe pulls into alignment. Whoever sent you here lied to you. Whoever sent you did so to fail. What, then, does it matter who they are?

"Just so," she coos. "They are no one. Only blasphemers, sending you to your death."

"No one," you repeat in a quivering whisper. "They’re no one."

Your Angel nods. "What a blessing, then," she says, "that you have Me."

The words flow into your veins and spread heat throughout your body. You have Her. Her radiance. Her glory. Her infinite mercy. Even on Her knees She’s almost as tall as you. Her wings, glimmering silver, are so vast they cannot fully spread in the confines of the cellar. Her eyes radiate the calming light and warmth of a bonfire. And the point of your sword is inches from Her heart.

The guilt is crushing.

Your sword clatters to the floor as remorse grips you. A mewling wail chokes its way up your throat. How could you have ever thought to harm Her? Sinking to your knees you pull off your helmet and bow until the icy stone kisses your forehead. "I-I'm sorry," you blubber. "My Lady, I'm s-sorry..."

"Hush now, my blade." She strokes your hair, Her touch light as wind and gentle as a lullaby. "You were misled. Blinded. But you see now. Don't you?"

"Y-Ye..." Your sobs strangles the words before they escape. You don't weep out of guilt now, however. Rather, now your tears are of gratitude, joy. Such a kind mistress your Angel is.

"Good girl." Her words are honey poured over your lacerated mind. "But the toll taken on you remains, doesn't it?" Feathers rustle. "Come. Take comfort in my embrace."

Your breath hitches. Clumsily, like a maiden before her first time, you remove your armor. The cold air rakes at your naked skin. But your Mistress awaits, wingspan already unfolding you. Shepherding you into Her waiting arms. You climb into Her lap, curling up with your head against Her breast. The warmth of Her body, the softness of Her skin, Her sweet smoky scent, suffuse you. Cradling you in wings as wide and soft as the sky and long, powerful arms, your Angel lays you down with Her in the nest. You sniffle, Her endless kindness stoking your guilt anew- how could you have dared? But She knows how to soothe Her servant. She hums, something slow and melancholic and calm.

Your tears run dry. Your eyes flutter as a weighty peace settles over you. Closing them, you nuzzle into Her, feeling Her voice rumble through Her chest into your head. A deep, silent sleep soon claims you. One you will never truly wake from. 

Your fallen Mistress will keep you as She likes you.