Fallen
Authors Note: This is an OOC short. This story is not based off of a song, but I do tend to get many ideas out of listening to music as it is a constant in my life and this story came to me while listening to Angles Fall by Breaking Benjamin. Have you ever wondered where the miraculous rabbit hole inside of your head could lead you when given a subtle push?
She very well could have been a fallen angel. Bloodied, bruised and very nearly beaten; but still divine. Alabaster skin that looked as smooth and soft as the stone itself glowed in the waning moonlight, the mottled bruising patterns looking like mere shadows and only serving to enhance her fragile appearance. Even the worrying amount of crimson did nothing to make her seem any less angelic. The sight of so much of her lifeblood may have sent him into madness in times passed, but he had changed on an almost fundamental level when the demon was extracted, no longer even resembling the person he once was except for the commanding air and silence he held onto if only out of habit. It pooled around the small frame curled against the ground, staining cloth and dirt alike until they blend together to look like a frame around her body, as if even mother earth herself were attempting to capture the image of the fragile beauty to keep forever.
Tattered jacket pieces fluttered in a nearby bush, the clothing having been nearly shredded in whatever confrontation that had occurred here. Ebony locks fanned out around her head and shoulders, soaking up the moonlight and reflecting it back with startling intensity in soft hues of lavender and blue as if attempting to shield the girl from the darkness that tried to swallow her in the dark woods. Even with the strands acting as a curtain for her face he knew it would be absolutely exquisite. Soft, vulnerable skin. Lips a sumptuous shade of pale rose, so full and inviting; even to the most unobservant of men they would be a temptation hard to ignore. But the eyes...the eyes could buckled knees, looking through someone as if seeing to their very soul. His old self couldn't even try to catch her gaze, the demon itself seeming to fear what he would see reflected back in them.
Yes, Hinata certainly could be mistaken for a fallen angel. If he had not known her personally even he could be persuaded to believe the fantasy. Tales of fallen angels skittered through his mind, of how the creatures would be tempted by the happenings on Earth and be shoved from the heavens and left to crawl their way out from the pits of hell to become mortal. Only the strongest, the purest could resist the temptations hell would throw at them and break through to the surface...but if there was any one who held that strength within them it was this girl. Even her bloodied appearance seemed to fit the tale as hell is not one to pass the chance to torment the pure. Angels are said to be the most perfect of beings, beautiful beyond measure. She fit that as well. He doubted even if she was to die and become a true angel that they would change anything about her, as perfection cannot be perfected. Not that he would ever allow that to happen.
Bending he scoops the surprisingly heavy bundle into his arms, the muscles he can now feel hidden beneath that smooth skin causing a tug at the corner of his mouth. A warrior angel then. How fitting. Still not heavy enough to be a burden though. As he turns on his heel to return to his siblings so that they can get the injured beauty to a healer, the smirk morphs into a full out smile as he feels a hand curling into the strap of fabric crossing his chest from shoulder to waist, the strip holding his gourd in place at his back. Shifting his gaze downward aquamarine clashes with slitted lavender, a tremor coursing down his spine as an almost tangible connection is forged between the two. Even dulled and clouded by pain her eyes light in recognition before drifting closed, a whisper of sound escaping her lips. "Gaara..."