Once she could light a sky just by existing. Now she sits quietly, watching her own glow fade into something like dusk. No fall, no flames, no punishment just forgetting. Forgetting that she was once weightless, that freedom used to feel as natural as breathing. She hides her wings beneath her arms, ashamed of their stillness. But every feather remembers the wind, and every heartbeat still hums a hymn of the heavens. She hasn’t fallen. She’s only tired of remembering who she was. And that’s what hurts most when your light fades, and you call it peace. Echoes: What part of you still knows how to fly and how long will you keep pretending that you’ve forgotten?