A young seraph sat in a cell. Her wrists were bound by majickal cuffs. Her wings, atrophied and bound to her back.
Once, she had a name, given to her by parents that had long since abandoned her for reasons beyond her understanding. She never knew it.
Or, more accurately, she never cared to try and find out.
Instead, she just knew the many names the Royal Cherubim, guardians of her cell, called her. “Warden of Void.” “Herald.”
“Dark Angel”.
The Darkest Flame was their favorite one to use. Again and again, she heard it from outside her walls.
MALE GUARD: Is that really her? The Darkest Flame?
FEMALE GUARD: Yes, it is. I heard she has the capacity to end the entire world...
MALE GUARD: Sh! Quiet down.
MALE GUARD: She's probably listening.
