Sofiel spends twelve nights thinking and some, when it suddenly hits her that she has got no clue to what she’s doing. She has been dragging her healing body, that is otherwise still fairly crippled, through the grey-washed, snow-piled streets of the mortal realm for days. And to what end? She does not know.

A part of her probably thinks that the further she walks on, she’ll eventually find the purpose she seeks. But that’s just wishful thinking on her part.

The mortals can’t sense her, and it’s not like she has an obligation to serve or guide them anymore – not after having witnessed the sins they’ve committed.

Then should she finally go seek her estranged brother out?

And what? For him to tell her ‘I told you so’ and for her to admit that she has ever been wrong to doubt him.

She thinks not.

With the way thing are, with her barely capable to keep a steady gait while walking, she honestly doubts she can even fly herself back up to the silver city without pummelling back down to the mortal realm. Even her immortal body wouldn’t last a second fall, she’s sure of it.

So Sofiel passes the remainder of her days in a proverbial and literal slump, knees tucked to her chin, shoulders hunched and arms curled over her frame into a tight ball.

She has no reason and no purpose.

And an angel who has lost their purpose has all but one fate – to wither away and fall.