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When she touched his shoulder, he looked up. There she was, smiling. And he cried. The joy spreading back through his broken heart. This Angel with the blackened wings rose once again. He took her hand and she led him down the path, the way she wanted to go. In the blind joy, he refused to feel the wire being twisted into his limbs. He didn't believe he was a puppet. But soon she was leading, guiding where she wanted him to go. He trusted her, foolishly. And when she was done she cut his strings and let him fall, fall so far away. She smiled and walked away. Discarded once again, the Angel went numb and turned to his only companions. He reached for his weapons, and clenched them tight. He flared his wings proudly and stepped forward into the unknown, ready to go back to war. It was a new war however, the war at home.
