The Fall of Heaven

A thick silence hung in the air in the Silver City. There was no music, no laughter, nothing. At the gates of the city, the angelic host waited. They stared up at the city with blank expressions, anticipating the return of their brother. Off in the distance, a figure appeared at the top of the steps leading to the entrance of Paradise and began to make its way toward them. Few in the throng reflected it was strange that this entity would walk rather than glide as usual.
Jegudiel’s whip hung from his hand loosely, but his wreath was nowhere to be seen. Blood trickled from his forehead, but he did not show any signs that he was in pain. Upon reaching the gates he paused momentarily before stepping through. The angels then addressed him.
“Is it done?”
“Yes, brothers. It is done.”
“Then we are free.”
“Yes, sisters. We are free to make our own destinies.”
“And what of our brothers and sisters in the Seraphim?”
“They are roaming the streets of the Silver City for the last time, trying to preserve

what they can in memory.”
“And what of… Michael?”
“Gone with our Father, blessed be his name and memory.”
The angels began to murmur among each other until one spoke up.
“Where do we go now? Where do we call home?”
“That is for each of us to decide,” replied Jegudiel, “but we cannot stay here. Without Father, his work is already becoming undone.”
No more was said. One by one, the angels took their leave. Many disappeared in traditional flight, while some chose to leave by foot. Several cherubs decided to follow the example of the Seraphim and say goodbye to the City. A mass exodus of angels made their way from the gates to new beginnings, not knowing what lay in store for them. Within a few hours the city was emptied, with the exception of one bystander. Jegudiel observed the angel. He knew her vaguely; she was born long after creation began with the new host. Although she maintained the guise of stoicism that angels were famous for, he could sense nervousness from her.
“Do not worry sister.