when she falls

Innocence always took pride in her wings.

They were of great beauty, cascading down her back. An opulent, iridescent white, taking in the sunlight and shedding soft gemstone shards when she took flight. It was her simple joy in life, to feel the wind howling in her ears, and the sun against her back as she absorbed the world around her. It was no secret that her beauty was the envy of her city, though no one ever showed her. Innocence was humble and she never allowed her appearance to overlook her compassion.

But Wrath did not understand her joy – did not understand the pride of pure beauty. He had never been beautiful himself; sharp evil was his defining feature. It was evident in his blazing eyes decorated with fury, and his cheekbones almost sharper than his words. He did not understand beauty. The only way he could was to take it from her.

So, he did.

She could not remember the pain she had felt when she awoke the next morning. But she could remember the pain of not being able to remember her name. It was no longer Innocence – he had made that clear. It had become a reality when she reached back to acknowledge the searing pain down her spine, only to feel the absence of what was her most sacred joy. Her screams were enough to shatter the heavens, stall time, rip a hole into the Earth’s mantle and devour it entirely, like volcanic ash swallowing and scorching the land. She cried to the stars for months, and they mocked her by gleaming just as beautifully as her lost wings.

Each day afterwards she would stand at the edge of the city, and stare down at the land passing by. She would question when she would ever be able to see it up close again, to chase the confident high she used to feel each day.

She stood at the edge of the clouds, the countryside below beckoning her to come closer – spread out in small squares of oranges, purples, and greens – a large quilt, almost, blanketing the rolling hills. She wanted so badly to smell the pines as she glided through the forests, the lavender as she brushed her fingertips over the farmland, the salty breeze as waves crashed against the mossy rocks and tossed misty spray into the air. This world had been hers to explore, to allow every sense to overload itself on what this universe had to offer. And she could not. She had no wings to help her.

Father watched her gaze over the edge, sadly. His heart could not shatter any more, as it had never healed since he gazed upon that crumpled heap of his ruined daughter aching over an evil he could never forgive.

She was always silent and unsmiling as she watched the world. Her face was as dark and cavernous as her insides felt. A light burned so deep down, she believed she would never reach it.

“It is the three-hundred and seventy-fifth day.” Father said.

“I wish you would stop telling me.”

“I am trying to give you power, Daughter. He has taken you from me for far too long now.”

She turned to stare at her Father. His forehead was scrunched into a worrying grimace, his eyes brimmed with tears. She knew the pain he was experienced – it almost matched her own. He was unconditionally loving a stranger when she could not even love herself.

“I told you I would give you time,” he said. “But it has been time enough. There is light in you, I know. But your life wastes away every day you ponder what you have lost. It is time to move on and build from that.”

“How can I move on when I cannot leave this place? I have nothing. I am stuck here until the end of time,” her eyes brim with tears, her emotions overcoming. “Why did he have to take mine? What have I done to him? Is beauty so important that he could not find his own? He had to ravage another?”

Father stepped forward to encase his daughter in his arms, pulling her back from the edge. Her sobs vibrated against his chest. He said nothing, only allowed her to release all that she had been feeling. He had not seen her cry in months. Only when she calmed down slightly, did he begin to speak slowly. He wanted her to receive every word like the Gospel.

“There is no part of this that is your fault, nor is there any reason you should seek revenge in the form of evil. The best revenge you can offer, is rising from the ashes. He only thrives knowing you are hurting; he only thrives knowing that your confidence merely stemmed from what he clipped. But I know your confidence stirs every day, wishing once again to be profound. Evil is everywhere and will continue to devastate Earth, Heaven, Hell, and every chasm in between. Your best defense is understanding how to rise from its destruction.”

She is silent now as he pulls her away from his chest to look at her directly.

“He may have taken your wings, angel. But he has not taken them from here.” He tapped her right temple gently, a small smile spreading across his face. “So, soar.”

She did not know what stewed in her in that moment. But she knew she felt powerful, and oh, my what a wonderful feeling after so many months in a constant tint of despair. Her stomach twisted in knots as she turned to face the cliff. She did not walk to the edge, no, she stayed still, analyzing the end of the city. Her body was burning now – perhaps it was Valor? But Father was right. Her best defense was finding faith in times like these and becoming what she has always been in mind, body, and soul. She could not see it before. Her judgement had been so clouded by hopelessness.

She took a deep breath, breaking away in a sprint towards the edge of the cliff. She did not care about anything else around her, she only saw the edge looming closer and closer – her destiny.

Soar.

Her foot hit the edge bridging on nothingness, and she pushed off.

Soar.

And she was now free-falling. The clouds above her shrinking away rapidly, the wind screaming in her ears and like iced daggers against her skin. Her breath was catching in her throat in a panic.

Soar.

She closed her eyes. She thought of her power – not what had been taken, no, but what lied inside of her, itching to break free. It had been dormant too long.

But what is it called?

It is the thing that moves mountains of armies when they are outnumbered, ignites a fervor in the breasts of sailors who battle storms in the search for new land, causes butterflies to leave their cocoons and spread their wings for the first time, teases lightning when they wait in anticipation for their sibling. It is what grandfather redwoods feel when they look down onto the forest floor and see new life beginning its journey. It is what a father feels when his daughter is lost with no way out.

Hope.

That is what she is. The blazing core of perpetual optimism and confidence. Of the light at the end of the tunnel she fought so hard to find. Hope is now her name.

She opened her eyes. She could see buildings now, scattered across the Earth in sporadic organization. She could begin to make out tiny windows. She was almost too close.

I am Hope. She said in her head, desperate for aid. But the wind did not stop howling, and her breath still caught in her throat with every passing second.

“I am Hope!” she cried out as loud as her lungs could summon, curling herself into the most vulnerable form, awaiting Death.

But Death never came.

She felt a sharp thrust against her spine, and the sudden rush of air ceased. All she could hear was her rough breathing and feel the beating of a wild heart in her chest. She uncurled herself from her frightened form and looked below. She was still high enough, but she was hovering now. She could feel air gliding through her in an almost unfamiliar sensation she thought she would never feel again. She looked to the right of her, then to the left. Each side displaying massive black wings. She could hardly believe they were hers, yet they way they reflected the sun in her signature way convinced her otherwise – trapping the sunlight in gemstone shards and releasing them from the wings with every flap in a dazzling shower.

Hope did not know what to do. Go back to her Father and thank him? Relish in the Earth as she used to before? Hm…

Father could wait. He would understand.