A thickening black cloud stretched over the winter-torn soil. It came in rather quickly, without giving anybody an admonition. Pearly white flashed throughout the darkness, igniting a land covered in black paint with occasional brushes of light.

The dark angel ambled with careless grace as she approached a low hanging tree bearing rotting apple fruit. She didn't show the tiredness, but the leaden-gray bags beneath her eyes told a different story. She wouldn't admit she was tired though. Admitting you're tired meant you're weak. You needed to keep walking regardless of the pain shooting through every part of you.

The dark angel never stopped. Even if she had a bullet boring through her leg. Even if she had just watched her mother being slaughtered. She would have to get up and still walk.

The dark angel never faltered, and when she did, never admitted it.

She turned up her head and gazed up at the charcoal-encrusted sky. "If I'm the hero, then why am I so alone?" She cried, accidentally opening her wings. It caught her off guard, so much that she bounced in the air and came back down.