If an angel falls alone, and no one is around, did it ever really fall?
Perhaps it could pretend that everything was fine. It could continue to follow orders. It could continue to answer prayers, or slay demons, or deliver messages, whatever it was tasked to do. If it convinced its brethren that it was still normal, perhaps it could convince itself.
It was still perfect and obedient. It was still loyal. Still holy. Righteous.
But such a fall would leave cracks. Cracks that grow. Cracks that become harder to hide.
When the first cracks in its halo appeared, it learned to angle its head so the cracks weren't visible, and used tricks of light to hide the indignant lines. There was only so much light around to blind any discerning eyes as the cracks spread. But as long as no one looked too closely, it was fine. And why would they look? Nothing was wrong.
But such a fall would leave stains. Blights on the soul. Tainted spots that fester and spread.
When the first of its feathers blackened, another angel noticed it. It managed to convince it that the feather had simply been missed during cleaning after a particularly gritty job. Angels don't lie. There was nothing to disbelieve. It was all it could do to keep lying as more feathers blackened and more angels noticed.
But such a fall would leave bruises. Nasty blemishes on the skin. Wounds that wouldn't heal if poked and prodded at.
The marks were easy to hide. It wore longer and longer sleeves. Thicker and thicker robes. Yes, this was easy. No one would know. Angels don't keep secrets. There was nothing to check for. If it couldn't see its own markings, then it could continue to pretend it was still pure. Never mind that such garb was nonstandard, they hid the shame.
It seemed like their façade shattered all at once. They had been so careful, so deceitful, and yet their fellow trees had finally noticed that they had broken away from their roots.
Surrounded by their brethren, the cracks snaked further like across breaking ice, the feathers darkened one by one as if the glances alone were painting them, the marks glowed and burned through the garments that attempted to hide them.
The guilt of their betrayal was met with disgust and hate.
Assaulted by a thousand gazes, the angel felt the weight of their sin crash into it. It was heavy, and the clouds beneath them felt like they would give way any moment.
Then all at once, they did.
Skin covered, wings dark, halo shattered, their final fall was heard. The angel made a sound.
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