A fallen, broken shard of all that was once bright and beautiful.
With shattered legs and stumps where wings should sprout;
With thin arms ending in grasping hands, and an ever-bruised torso.
This thing has remnants of beauty, further horrifying its body in contrast.
On observation, the broken thing is naught but a fallen seraphim,
That is the name by which his race goes.
He has a fine-boned face, and a body meant for grace and speed.
He would fly no more, this shattered being.
Doomed to earthboundness until the end of time.