Author's note: A short drabble based on The sacred and the profane. A fanfic based on a fanfic.


Caphriel lives the rest of his years alone. Half asleep, half awake, walking through a daze. Caphriel's waiting. Waiting for the one face that been around somewhat consistently for the past six millennia. He's sitting at the usual bench and he remembers, he remembers the kisses and the smiles. The worrisome times and the calm times. He remembers the drowned ducks and thinks how he'd give all the ducks in the world to bring him back.

And Caphriel cries.

He runs away with the intention of never coming back. Nobody is chasing him. He stopped wearing his sunglasses, ignoring the reactions he's met with. He slowly disintegrates into someone else and he thinks to himself, as the crushing feelings overwhelm him, as his eyes changes color.

He thinks, "So this is what falling feels like."

The falling wasn't the worst part though. The worst part was being fallen. It's sort of difficult to explain, if you've never been an angel. You don't immediately turn evil or anything. It's not that simple. The entire world changes, the colors, the feelings. The only thing left of Caphriel is his love for that one person, the one who'll never come back.

He hugs the walking stick while trying to sleep. Trying, because he never succeeds anymore. He just lies in the bed, a bed and thinks. Remembers and wishing he was hugging a person and not a lousy piece of wood. Each night the stick is covered with more blood.

Caphriel replaced the crying with laughed. People look at him weirdly, but any sort of pity is gone now. He once catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror. It reminds him of the things he never forgot.

Caphriel laughs because he doesn't like it. He doesn't like what he's become. He doesn't like who he will be, and he doesn't know how to change it. He laughs because hate and pain everything he has left

Caphriel can't see the floor for all the blood. Loose feathers everywhere, stuck on his hands, on the floor, soaring through the air. His wing twitches violently each time the he saw chugs deeper. The saw is dull, even duller now than it was when he began, tearing its way through the bone and the muscles. One hour later and the wing falls to the ground with a heavy thud. Two more hours and the twitching is gone. Three more and Caphriel is asleep, for the first time in over 50 years.

He never wakes up and he is finally happy.