The crooked knight laid himself down to rest
There was no battle left for him to fight. He had fulfilled his mission, succeeded in his quest.
His war was won.
But he remained, nonetheless, the crooked knight
In winning he had lost
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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.