Fallen.

A/N: This is a one-shot from a story I once came up with. It plays along with the idea of there being three dimensions that are linked side-by-side, and they exist separately. First, there's Earth, which just has humans and a couple of extra beings; beside it is Old Terra, a place much like the feudal times, where there are weak borders and strong kingdoms, and there are demons and humans and witches and Summoners and werewolves... and pretty much anything your imagination can come up with. There's also a race I created on my own, called Immortals. The story I created centers around one of them; her name is Erin. Anyway, this one-shot is set in the last dimension, called Third World, which had three levels to it:

Underground (Lower Third World) - Vampires.
Ground (Middle Third World) - humans/hunters.
Above (Upper Third World) - gods/seraphs.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Fallen.

The building was too close, and I was falling too fast. I didn't know what terror felt like until that day.

My right wing clipped on the windowsills. Sharp pain shot through my wing, into my shoulderblade. I never knew my wings could hurt.

It was even worse when I reached the bottom. I thought I'd broken my neck, so I decided that it would be safer just to lie there for a few days. I know countless humans and hunters must have passed me by in those two days I just lied there. I could feel their glowing eyes watching me constantly, hear their whispers of pity and horror.

I curled up into a ball, trying not to cry. When it got cold at night (as it does EVERY night in Third World), I would spread out my wings and drape them over me, like a warm blanket of feathers. I had never before felt hunger, cold, or pain.

Now, it surrounded me.

On the third day, a single hunter stopped beside me. I watched her, unmoving, as she looked me over intently. She had eyes as dark as the blackest night, and her hair was very straight and almost white in color, with a few streaks of bright pink. She had very pale skin, making the pink star tattoo on her right cheek stand out even more. Her aura shined with good intentions, but I could see the judging look in her male companion's eyes.

He was a former seraph, like myself. I recognized him almost instantly: Angel, the one who gave up his immortal status to save a foolish goddess from the clutches of her own half-brother.

"How's Mercy these days?" I asked him in a hoarse voice. Somehow, I still managed to sound haughty.

The seraph's bright blue eyes narrowed, and he took the hunter woman by the arm. "Let's go," he muttered, his tone low and angry. "She'll be fine on her own."

In his expression, I saw that he recognized me as well; I had been one of those to cast him out.

The hunter gave him a puzzled look, and he only glared down at me. "After all, I was," he whispered.

They left me there, probably to die.