Glory
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Cast Down From Above
I wasn't always... broken. There was a time when I was counted among the justified gods that surrounded me. And I'm not some sort of fallen angel. No. I chose this. I was given chances, choices, decisions to be made. And I chose the path that looked more fun. It was... for a while. And even now, every so often, I find myself enjoying my existence. However, I have humility enough to admit that what I chose had consequences as well. To choose the path of agony, pain, suffering, sexual and emotional immorality, and violence only led to me experiencing those at first. And in my anger, I sought revenge upon the mortals. Upon doing this, I was disbanded from the council of the Eleven. I became a lesser god, not welcome among those in the council any longer.
My wings were ripped from me.
I was shredded. My body endured the kind of suffering only two other gods had ever endured, the twin gods that I oh-so-gladly get along with, Hale and Elah. My wings and crown were ripped from me.
As my wings grew back, they were no longer their iridescent pearl color, which dazzled in the moonlight. When they grew back, they were blotted with black, which looked like ink spills, and they had charred feathers and burnt ends.
I did this to myself, and I regret it every day. So I take it out on the mortals, condemning them to Hell to suffer for eternity, to feel what I felt. To mourn in agonizing pain. I cannot harm the other gods, but the world is my playground... and I...
Am a very cruel ruler.
