The first night for the Fallen was always the hardest to endure, Heavens light would fade quickly from the former Seraphim and the pain they would suffer was the things nightmares were born from. When you are touched by the Grace, born into the Light, to suddenly succumb to darkness it leaves a devastating scar on the heart, the soul, and the mind. Warping what was once so adored into twisted remains of torment and sorrow. 

	How a Seraphim confronted the Fall determined what their Sin would become. They would be vulnerable to all Seven but the first one which entered their heart and drove its dark dagger into was the one that took hold, curling its talons and locking into place.  

	The Fallen Seraphim, who now called herself Elisheva, was taken by Wrath. Her kindness replaced by anger, compassion with indifference, empathy with disdain. It wedged its ways through the fragmented walls of her heart, sewing its strands from piece to piece until it pulled taunt with resounding hold; stitching together the sharded remains. She had lost all her faith to bitter strife and her soul was now on fire. 

	Wings, once so majestic and ethereal, now tainted. Snowy feathers once tipped in golden essence now were soot ridden and dark edged; bone like talons ripped from beneath and curled inward in homage to the very ones that had slashed her from the Heavens and caused her Fall. Each stained with the blood of its host. 

	The Shadows played on her features as she trudged through the wilderness of the forest back towards the madness of Santa Muerte; casting a vengeful visage to haunt her face. Pursed lips hid clenched teeth and eyes that once shown as bright as the sky now where sea wrath; containing a maelstrom of emotion. 

	The forest floor gave way to pavement, the sound of boot scraping over concrete cut through the silent night as she moved. The winds would gust, humid and musty scents of the city wafting to the senses; growing more intense and lacing with decay with each step taken. The gentle creatures of the forest which used to flock to her during her evening strolls now hid in the shadows, afraid to approach. Her scent, once warm and welcoming, now warned them to stay away for it smelt of brimstone. 

	Stopping at the wall of the city she looked up at the cities silhouette and felt a certain odd kinship to it now. Rusted beams and broken windows, littered streets and shattered lights, broken dreams and false promises. It all resonated so clearly to her now as another step was taken, and then another. Her soul was burning and where she would traverse from here into the inner workings of the city was nothing but a shot in the dark; a random toss of the dice to see where her feet took her. 

	The moon tinged with crimson signaled to the Seraphim and the Fallen within the city that another had Fallen that evening. It was the one of the few signs from above to acknowledge the loss. A light mist fell from the tendrils of clouds that swirled through the night sky; tears from Heaven weeping, mourning for the soul that would now never return to their ranks.

	So, to the streets she took and remained, wandering and watching. Wanting some twisted release from the pain and yet some sadistic desire to increase it tenfold; like a child picking at a scab or pressing on a bruise. Something to feel alive and conversely to be numb. On edge her eyes blinked at the flickering neon of a sign which read [i]The Inferno[/i] before a cruel grin curled and tugged at the edge of her lips. It was as good a place as any to drown out her sorrows and perhaps more.