A tale is told of twin boys to different mothers.
One is a dark angel of slaughter and destruction, a death's head moth arising from a mortal cocoon; one is a crooked knight of flame, a heart of ashes thunder-struck and smoldering.
They each live without ever knowing that they are brothers.
They each die fighting the blind god.
They are tethered by moon threads, woven of love and hate, the stronger for their invisibility: tied to the god who had been a man and to the dark angel's spawn, to the dragoness and to the child of the river, to the dead goddess and to eachother.
Where these threads spin a single weave, they knit the ravell'd fate of worlds.
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Cronicles of one of the Fallen
An account from one of the few who flew with the grace of God,
Challenged the sun, and was burned from the Heavens
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a breeze that smelled of wide-open spaces, of limitless skies and bright sun, of ice and high mountains.
It was the wind from the dark angels wings.