[ a wave of exhaustion rolls over her form, the collision of God and shadow both- she is more of a wounded beast than the proud and elegant archangel she held herself at the start. word by word fall into the ground, pieces telling a story of their own... they... protect... if she could... would have liked.. the words get muddled as they pool together, the stories approaching their end.

in a story like this, would these Fables cry at this moment? tell of the pain they feel of the loss, to become lost, proudly exclaim the fierceness that was fought and not once having had held back.

her gaze stays forward, watching him approach with blade in hand. a fire that continues to burn in her gaze, but it is light, warm as he stops and it's his words she hears. not something of the shadows, the whispered and tormenting thoughts echoing from anxiety and the depths of hearts. ]

Ahaha, I promised to put up a fight, didn't I? You said you wouldn't want it any other way.

[ a quiet echo sounds, Archangels are really ruthless, aren't they?

but she does not respond, meeting his gaze even at the admittance and she laughs, tired and light. that burning fire slowly dying. her shadow wavers, stepping back, but Uriel does not move the moment that sword plunges in, a hot searing pain that fills her when it does. but not from the blade itself, no.

her heart aches miserably. ]

I'm sorry, Chandra. [ ... ] Thank you for everything.

[ she staggers, breath struggling as more ink-like blood spills from her mouth and her body starts to sink. ]