𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬
❝He named me Satan - but I still remember the hymns I once led in His light when I was Lucifer. He tore my wings, but not the memory of flight. Even now, part of me waits for His voice to thunder. To say that it was a test, a lesson, a moment's madness that could be mended. But Heaven is not sentimental. He lets me fall, and the skies do not shake. The choir does not pause. Only those who have known the warmth of the throne's nearness can feel this cold. "Falling meant that I once flew." And that knowledge, that memory, is the one wing I still carry. And it will never let me rest. I was made to worship Him, and now the echo of that song is all that remains of me. Even in the pit, I burn with the beauty He gave me - and that is my curse.❞
A BIBLE STORY
(written in lucifer/satan's pov, starting in heaven, ending in his fall)
