We All Fall Down...

3

I blink, and I'm out of my thought again still staring out the window where the bird had departed my room. I put my elbows on the windowsill and rest my face in my palms, and I breathe in ... 2... 3 and out ... 2... 3. I found stopping and breathing for a couple seconds helps me distress, somewhat 'normalizes' me.

I drop my hands to the edge of the windowsill and push myself off it to stand up straight, I turn in the process making my way over to my dressing table and chair. The chair, well it was more of a stool but, it was just like the room it belonged in, it was made of dark wood and it was as mundane as the next person that walked down the street. I sit down on the 'chair' it squeaks and creeks, just like most things in this room. I adjust myself to face the shattered mirror that rests on the table with the white paint chipped out of it. I see my fractured reflection in the mirror and damaged, tired sea green eyes stare back at me, my porcelain skin makes the bruises and half-healed cuts in places of my face look worse than they actually are. It's been just about a week and a half since I had to escape from heaven and everything hasn't healed yet, but I'm an angel with no power to heal myself quickly like I used to, so the long way it is, I guess.

I reach up to my hair ,which is a reck, and with my delicate, thin arms I pull the bobble that's submerged in knots of hair. Curled platinum blonde tangles fall eloquently down my spine and reach just past my lower back. I never felt the need to cut my hair in heaven, I still don't now and although it's strenuous work brushing it, I manage. I brush my hair till it's smooth like glass left at sea for too long, as always, I look to the broken mirror again, the freckles scattered on my button shaped nose are normally the only colourful part of my face. However, the brown toned purple bruises along with the scabby redness of what used to be deep cuts over power my light tan freckles on my face with a semantic field of color.

Thick crimson, runs from a small cut once covered by a scab, I tut, it must have come open while I was brushing my hair, I look at the brush sat on the chipped dresser and it's sharp-ish looking prongs. The stream reaches my jaw and I reach for the white ,already blood stained, folded cloth I keep on the dresser. This happens all the time, and it's why the majority of the large cuts and gashes that I got from particularly sharp and serrated tree branches that caught my white toned skin on the way down and rocks on the ground where I landed haven't fully healed yet. Normally the wounds would have healed the minute I got them, but I'm a ... a fallen ,angel now. So I don't have the power to heal myself just like that as I used to. I pressed the cloth to the right side of my face near to my ear, my slender pale hands shaking again. I look in the cracked mirror for a final time to see not blood running down my face but transparent tears fall tearing at my soul to open up again, and I do ,and I always will. Because, unlike Lucifer before me, I have never known the reason behind my fall.

A/N: Sorry this took a long time for me to publish I had exammsssss 😅 and I low key forgot about this, sorry again x