Musical Mayhem
~Simple and Clean~
Fallen, the side of angels you haven't seen. Death is an amazing thing, but when we go to heaven, what DO we do? Well, you just go on living "life" of sorts with your family, older side however. Angels are just like people with wings. Some however, have a higher calling then others. They go on to graduate from school and become "Guardian Angels", sent to guard those on earth. However, once their "charge" dies, they must move onto their next lives, along with the other angels who have lived a total of 200 earthly and heavenly years combined. This, however, drives some to "Fall" from grace and return from Earth, only to the dangers of demons and other evil creatures attempting to pick them off. This... is their story. This, is the beginning of the legacy... of the Fallen.
Seeing a once glorious school, now reduced to shattered glass, sparkling in the ironically sunny weather, along with a few chipped brick fragments, and the almost unrecognizable black charred things that used to be bodies is quite sad. The people that had gone there were now reduced to ash, all because of one, psychotic boy, driven to suicide. Yes, everyone’s heard of Columbine, but the Twilight High School incident would most likely become much bigger than that. A single, teenage boy had blown the whole school and everyone in it, to smithereens. The only person whose body was not charred or shot or even simply bloody, was one “person” per say, whom was standing amidst the fiery flames now licking at the remains of the once-high-school. Her name was Teresa. She was a Guardian Angel, meant to guide the single person whom had driven the whole school to explode in a flurry of panic and smoke, the person who’d pulled the string, and killed every last person in the building.
Amidst the smoke, no one could see the angel, standing quietly in the smoking ebony rubble, sun beating down on her smoke blackened blonde hair. No one could have been able to tell that she was different, in the way that she had a pair of beautiful white feathered wings sloping down her back, once glorious, now drooping down, laden with ashes and laying over the once sky blue tint, now a tainted black dusty coating covering it.
No one that is, except for the angel whom appeared in a quiet swirl of much dimmer fire next to her. This one, however, was in a very different condition. She was in a robe of pure, ivory colored silk, her long black braids hanging down over the garment in complete contrast. The smoke did not seem to affect the second angel. She ruffled her ruby highlighted feathers as if to get the attention of the younger angel she now faced.
Teresa did not turn around, her sapphire eyes remaining focused on the blackened corpse in front of her. Most wouldn’t even go as far as to call it a corpse; most would go as far as to call it a melted puddle of burnt flesh. “I could have stopped him,” she whispered, horrified. Her voice carried barely enough for the robed angel to hear it, from behind her over the crackling of the few flames left above them on the last of the tattered ceiling tiles which occasionally crashed to the floor.
“Teresa, there was nothing you could have done,” The other angel spoke softly, taking a few steps towards Teresa, her white heeled shoes echoing through the silence of the once hallways.
“No,” Teresa muttered, holding out her hand to touch the mutilated corpse, “Do you even know who that was?” she whispered, finally turning her head just enough to look into the emerald eyes of the angel behind her. She took a few steps, just close enough to the mutilated body for her to see it. The angel’s eyes scanned the puddle slowly. She then reached out a trembling, pale hand towards the puddle. Her hand began to glow with a golden aura, as did the charred body, which began to slowly morph back into the shape of a human being, skin slowly lightening to a dark, tan coloration, then a head of long, blackened hair appeared. Teresa seemed to tense just at the site of the Asian boy below her.
“I know whom it was Teresa. I knew all along. It was Michael,” the black haired angel turned her intense gaze from the male’s body back to the angelic being before her, “I’m sorry this had to happen this way,” she seemed to be edging nervously towards something.
“No,” Teresa began in horror, “You’re not taking me there. Not yet. I’m not going!” her voice had risen considerably since the beginning of their meaning.
“Teresa…” the robed angel began, but was swiftly cut off by Teresa’s hand being held up in her face.
“You don’t understand Katalina. I worked my butt off to keep myself in this job, and then I try to get him to be more daring and he goes and blows up the whole school!” Teresa shrieked, raising her arms in the air angrily, revealing several burn marks from under the long sleeves of her own, cobalt robe, “How was I to know? How!?” she demanded, turning and slamming her fists angrily into the disintegrating wall tiles.
Katalina jumped as debris tumbled from the decrepit ceiling, and then seemed to calm down as she fluttered her feathers to rid them of the ashen debris, “I know how you feel. Loosing a charge is extremely hard. I remember when I lost mine,” Kat’s voice was soft, almost sad as she announced this.
But her sadness almost seemed to fuel the rage now burning within Teresa even more, “You lost your charge because he was seventy five! And now you’re an Elder Angel, guiding the new angels along their paths and watching over the Guardian Angels to make sure nothing happens to them! I was a shoe-in for an Elder, but then Mike had to go suicidal!” she turned, blue eyes flashing wildly, “I’m going to do IT,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Katalina’s eyes widened, “No, you can’t. Please, don’t fall. It’s not worth it,” she reached out to grab Teresa’s shoulder tentatively, but Teresa ripped away.
“Don’t touch me. I’m going to. You can’t make me move on to my next life if you can’t find me,” she wiped her arm under her nose, than was engulfed in a swirling vortex of water. When the water cleared, there was only a puddle of black, ashen water where she’d been standing.
Katalina sighed, “I cannot stop her from doing this, it is her choice,” she groaned, “but I’m still going to get my *** kicked for this,” then, too, disappeared in a whirling swirl of flames, leaving only more ashes and charred floor tiles in the high school. The crackling of flames filled the warped hallways with echoing menace as the building began to literally disintegrate, burying the body of Michael Lee, hundreds, if not thousands of innocent children, and the bomb he’d used to blow it up under endless burnt rubble.
Not too far from the building in which Katalina had found Teresa the best friend of one of the victims lay in a hospital bed, her beautiful brown hair cut into a funny tuft as she lay in a hospital bed, victim of a hit and run car accident which had occurred a week prior. Next to her bed, grasping her pale, unconscious hand was her father, Victor Concarlos. He was an old man, graying at the roots of his chocolate hair, wrinkles contorted across his face as he watched his daughter lying in a clean, white bed, simply withering away in his hands. Her mother was long gone, not dead, but not alive either, or so her former drug counselor had said. A beautiful woman with an intense alcohol addiction, she had flown the coup to sunny California, only to be caught shoplifting and locked in prison for quite a few years, before she mysteriously was kidnapped and presumed dead. The girl, Vivian, was left to her father, the only person in the world she would ever trust, besides her only friend (former), Margalo Reeves.
“Victor Concarlos?” a white-lab coated doctor asked, knocking on the oaken door to Vivian’s room.
Victor stood up, smoothing his pants down as he gingerly placed his daughter’s hand back on her bed, “Yes?” he asked nervously, eyes darting from the machines hooked up to his daughter, suspending her between life and death, and the doctor who was keeping her there.
“Your daughter has fallen into critical condition. She is in a coma, most likely from head trauma,” the doctor looked pityingly at Victor with a fake tearful tone in her voice, “We don’t know if she’ll wake up ever. I suggest you just give it up now. She’s not worth the trouble,” the doctor almost seemed ready to kill off the innocent young woman lying helplessly in the snow sheeted bed before her.
Victor’s fists visibly clenched, “I’m not letting her go now. Not ever!” His soft hazel eyes welled up with tears, “She’s all I have,”
The doctor snorted, “Well, fine. We’ll leave her on the machines, but I’m not promising much,” her icy green eyes seemed to dance with laughter as she eyed Vivian’s withered, unconscious form. She then turned curtly on her heels and clanked out through the oaken doorway, leaving the door open.
Victor lowered himself slowly back into the faded hospital chair he’d pulled up next to his daughter’s bed as he listened to the violent, speedy clicking of the doctor’s heels fade down the hallway. The moment that the clicking had completely faded away, he ran his hands through his graying hair, tears finally bubbling over the brims of his hazel eyes. He grasped Vivian’s hand, unaware that despite the fact that her body was alive, her spirit was already gone.
Far away, but yet very close to Victor’s position was a boat, sailing across a clear, placid ocean of air and clouds. The boat was not a happy-go-lucky cruise boat, nor was it a cargo boat of any kind. It was a huge, snowy white boat, several stories high. There was a pool on-deck and several metal binocular stands, as though the passengers would be viewing fish of some sort through them. Several floors of rooms that were somewhat like dorm rooms lie beneath the polished sunbathed floors of the deck, each with their own passengers now on-board, not alive, but not dead either. They were the spirits that had moved on that day, or in Vivian’s case, perhaps not forever to heaven.
Down several floors from the polished deck of the boat, past the temperate pool and the buffet like cafeteria was room five thousand six hundred and seventy nine, where two teenage girls lay sleeping in a bunk bed. The top bunk contained a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, bouncy red curls splayed across an azure pillow, freckled face obscured by the sheets which just so happened to match her pillow. Hanging from the foot of her top bunk was a chart, almost like the kind you’d find at a hospital. The name on the chart was Margalo Reeves. Below her lay Vivian, whose hair had surprisingly reappeared on her head, in a thick ponytail.
Vivian groaned, rolling over as her clear blue eyes began to flutter open. As soon as she had regained enough consciousness, she shot up, sheets fluttering everywhere, causing her head to connect with the hardwood bottom of Margalo’s bed with an ear shattering thump.
Margalo jolted up, screaming something incomprehensibly about not shooting her.
“Where’s my dad? What’s going on?! This isn’t the hospital!” Vivian shrieked angrily, recovering quickly from her conk on the head as she slid gracefully onto the hardwood floors of the room she and her confused roommate were in. Her blue eyes scanned the room. It was entirely made of wood, from the dressers to the bunk beds to the walls to the floor. There was a single, silver lantern hanging from the ceiling, swaying back and forth with the motion of the boat. Vivian noticed that all the furniture was bolted to the floor, which made her realize that she was indeed, on a boat.
“Vivian?!” Margalo squealed in surprise, finally realizing what Vivian had: They weren’t in Connecticut anymore, or in Vivian’s case, Philadelphia, PA where she’d been transferred for an immediate liver transplant, hers having been severely damaged in the accident.
Vivian spun around, both in surprise and dread, her azure eyes scanning Margalo’s body up and down. Her hair was the same, familiar, strawberry blonde that it had been when they’d been friends, her eyes the same, deep emerald, except now they were filled with guilt and pain. She was wearing a soft gray nightgown, which matched the huge, almost unnoticeable at first, gray tinged feathery wings which now extended from the middle of Margalo’s thin shoulder blades. “Margalo, you’ve got…” Vivian trailed off, wondering if she’d landed in some bizarre, anesthesia induced dream.
Margalo laughed a short, nervous chuckle before choosing her careful answer, “You’ve got wings too Vivian,” she had nervously spit out the name “Vivian” instead of “Viv” which was the former nickname for her friend. Vivian strained to look over her shoulder, which she now realized was clad in a pale cherry nightgown, as was the rest of her body, down to her bare feet. Over her shoulder, beyond the thick mass of chocolate brown hair was a pair of wings. They looked as though they’d originally been white, and then covered with a dark pink, almost red sheet of ceran wrap.
“So, just because I have wings, I’m Vivian now huh?” Vivian snapped, looking up at Margalo’s pained face. Margalo winced, lowering her emerald gaze to the hardwood floors. “Just because of what that… that ***** said about me!” Tears began to well up in Vivian’s bright blue eyes, the only piece of her mother she’d really inherited.
“Vivian…” Margalo said softly, keeping her tear coated eyes on the floor, “I had nothing to do with it! Okay?! She left me at that party, the one where you walked out. She hit you because SHE was drunk. I didn’t want her to. I told her not to! I didn’t believe her! Just please, please, forgive me,” Margalo had started out yelling, but her voice had shrunk down to a quiet, tearful whisper by the time she’d finished.
Vivian sighed, her eyes filling with tears as well, despite the fact that she was fairly sure that she wasn’t even angry, “Fine. I can tell you believe that story, so, we’ll talk about it later. Right now, we should probably figure out where the hell we are,” Vivian muttered, glancing around the wooden chamber until her eyes reached the scuffed gray door.
“Alright. Thanks Viv,” Margalo said with a small relieved smile.
“For what?” Viv asked, turning from the curious door to her friend with a naturally befuddled look on her face.
“For understanding,” Margalo answered, walking slowly over to her companion, “Now let’s find out where the hell we ARE,”
“Hell?” A feminine voice asked from behind the door. Both girls jumped as the door opened, revealing Katalina, the Elder Angel from The Twilight High School, “Not even close.”
Writer's Babble: Yeah, so I wrote another fic. I realized that band jokes, well, you can only understand them if you're in my band. So, I moved on to an idea that I'd had for a while: Fallen Angels. Surprise, surprise, I got the idea watching Charmed, when Leo fell from grace so he could love Piper. Well, I made up some characters (sorry for the lack of guys, I already have two or three planned out, but they won't debut until later) and poof, here it is. Enjoy. Read, Review, and um, review more.
Chapter 1: ExOdUs
Seeing a once glorious school, now reduced to shattered glass, sparkling in the ironically sunny weather, along with a few chipped brick fragments, and the almost unrecognizable black charred things that used to be bodies is quite sad. The people that had gone there were now reduced to ash, all because of one, psychotic boy, driven to suicide. Yes, everyone’s heard of Columbine, but the Twilight High School incident would most likely become much bigger than that. A single, teenage boy had blown the whole school and everyone in it, to smithereens. The only person whose body was not charred or shot or even simply bloody, was one “person” per say, whom was standing amidst the fiery flames now licking at the remains of the once-high-school. Her name was Teresa. She was a Guardian Angel, meant to guide the single person whom had driven the whole school to explode in a flurry of panic and smoke, the person who’d pulled the string, and killed every last person in the building.
Amidst the smoke, no one could see the angel, standing quietly in the smoking ebony rubble, sun beating down on her smoke blackened blonde hair. No one could have been able to tell that she was different, in the way that she had a pair of beautiful white feathered wings sloping down her back, once glorious, now drooping down, laden with ashes and laying over the once sky blue tint, now a tainted black dusty coating covering it.
No one that is, except for the angel whom appeared in a quiet swirl of much dimmer fire next to her. This one, however, was in a very different condition. She was in a robe of pure, ivory colored silk, her long black braids hanging down over the garment in complete contrast. The smoke did not seem to affect the second angel. She ruffled her ruby highlighted feathers as if to get the attention of the younger angel she now faced.
Teresa did not turn around, her sapphire eyes remaining focused on the blackened corpse in front of her. Most wouldn’t even go as far as to call it a corpse; most would go as far as to call it a melted puddle of burnt flesh. “I could have stopped him,” she whispered, horrified. Her voice carried barely enough for the robed angel to hear it, from behind her over the crackling of the few flames left above them on the last of the tattered ceiling tiles which occasionally crashed to the floor.
“Teresa, there was nothing you could have done,” The other angel spoke softly, taking a few steps towards Teresa, her white heeled shoes echoing through the silence of the once hallways.
“No,” Teresa muttered, holding out her hand to touch the mutilated corpse, “Do you even know who that was?” she whispered, finally turning her head just enough to look into the emerald eyes of the angel behind her. She took a few steps, just close enough to the mutilated body for her to see it. The angel’s eyes scanned the puddle slowly. She then reached out a trembling, pale hand towards the puddle. Her hand began to glow with a golden aura, as did the charred body, which began to slowly morph back into the shape of a human being, skin slowly lightening to a dark, tan coloration, then a head of long, blackened hair appeared. Teresa seemed to tense just at the site of the Asian boy below her.
“I know whom it was Teresa. I knew all along. It was Michael,” the black haired angel turned her intense gaze from the male’s body back to the angelic being before her, “I’m sorry this had to happen this way,” she seemed to be edging nervously towards something.
“No,” Teresa began in horror, “You’re not taking me there. Not yet. I’m not going!” her voice had risen considerably since the beginning of their meaning.
“Teresa…” the robed angel began, but was swiftly cut off by Teresa’s hand being held up in her face.
“You don’t understand Katalina. I worked my butt off to keep myself in this job, and then I try to get him to be more daring and he goes and blows up the whole school!” Teresa shrieked, raising her arms in the air angrily, revealing several burn marks from under the long sleeves of her own, cobalt robe, “How was I to know? How!?” she demanded, turning and slamming her fists angrily into the disintegrating wall tiles.
Katalina jumped as debris tumbled from the decrepit ceiling, and then seemed to calm down as she fluttered her feathers to rid them of the ashen debris, “I know how you feel. Loosing a charge is extremely hard. I remember when I lost mine,” Kat’s voice was soft, almost sad as she announced this.
But her sadness almost seemed to fuel the rage now burning within Teresa even more, “You lost your charge because he was seventy five! And now you’re an Elder Angel, guiding the new angels along their paths and watching over the Guardian Angels to make sure nothing happens to them! I was a shoe-in for an Elder, but then Mike had to go suicidal!” she turned, blue eyes flashing wildly, “I’m going to do IT,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Katalina’s eyes widened, “No, you can’t. Please, don’t fall. It’s not worth it,” she reached out to grab Teresa’s shoulder tentatively, but Teresa ripped away.
“Don’t touch me. I’m going to. You can’t make me move on to my next life if you can’t find me,” she wiped her arm under her nose, than was engulfed in a swirling vortex of water. When the water cleared, there was only a puddle of black, ashen water where she’d been standing.
Katalina sighed, “I cannot stop her from doing this, it is her choice,” she groaned, “but I’m still going to get my *** kicked for this,” then, too, disappeared in a whirling swirl of flames, leaving only more ashes and charred floor tiles in the high school. The crackling of flames filled the warped hallways with echoing menace as the building began to literally disintegrate, burying the body of Michael Lee, hundreds, if not thousands of innocent children, and the bomb he’d used to blow it up under endless burnt rubble.
Not too far from the building in which Katalina had found Teresa the best friend of one of the victims lay in a hospital bed, her beautiful brown hair cut into a funny tuft as she lay in a hospital bed, victim of a hit and run car accident which had occurred a week prior. Next to her bed, grasping her pale, unconscious hand was her father, Victor Concarlos. He was an old man, graying at the roots of his chocolate hair, wrinkles contorted across his face as he watched his daughter lying in a clean, white bed, simply withering away in his hands. Her mother was long gone, not dead, but not alive either, or so her former drug counselor had said. A beautiful woman with an intense alcohol addiction, she had flown the coup to sunny California, only to be caught shoplifting and locked in prison for quite a few years, before she mysteriously was kidnapped and presumed dead. The girl, Vivian, was left to her father, the only person in the world she would ever trust, besides her only friend (former), Margalo Reeves.
“Victor Concarlos?” a white-lab coated doctor asked, knocking on the oaken door to Vivian’s room.
Victor stood up, smoothing his pants down as he gingerly placed his daughter’s hand back on her bed, “Yes?” he asked nervously, eyes darting from the machines hooked up to his daughter, suspending her between life and death, and the doctor who was keeping her there.
“Your daughter has fallen into critical condition. She is in a coma, most likely from head trauma,” the doctor looked pityingly at Victor with a fake tearful tone in her voice, “We don’t know if she’ll wake up ever. I suggest you just give it up now. She’s not worth the trouble,” the doctor almost seemed ready to kill off the innocent young woman lying helplessly in the snow sheeted bed before her.
Victor’s fists visibly clenched, “I’m not letting her go now. Not ever!” His soft hazel eyes welled up with tears, “She’s all I have,”
The doctor snorted, “Well, fine. We’ll leave her on the machines, but I’m not promising much,” her icy green eyes seemed to dance with laughter as she eyed Vivian’s withered, unconscious form. She then turned curtly on her heels and clanked out through the oaken doorway, leaving the door open.
Victor lowered himself slowly back into the faded hospital chair he’d pulled up next to his daughter’s bed as he listened to the violent, speedy clicking of the doctor’s heels fade down the hallway. The moment that the clicking had completely faded away, he ran his hands through his graying hair, tears finally bubbling over the brims of his hazel eyes. He grasped Vivian’s hand, unaware that despite the fact that her body was alive, her spirit was already gone.
Far away, but yet very close to Victor’s position was a boat, sailing across a clear, placid ocean of air and clouds. The boat was not a happy-go-lucky cruise boat, nor was it a cargo boat of any kind. It was a huge, snowy white boat, several stories high. There was a pool on-deck and several metal binocular stands, as though the passengers would be viewing fish of some sort through them. Several floors of rooms that were somewhat like dorm rooms lie beneath the polished sunbathed floors of the deck, each with their own passengers now on-board, not alive, but not dead either. They were the spirits that had moved on that day, or in Vivian’s case, perhaps not forever to heaven.
Down several floors from the polished deck of the boat, past the temperate pool and the buffet like cafeteria was room five thousand six hundred and seventy nine, where two teenage girls lay sleeping in a bunk bed. The top bunk contained a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years of age, bouncy red curls splayed across an azure pillow, freckled face obscured by the sheets which just so happened to match her pillow. Hanging from the foot of her top bunk was a chart, almost like the kind you’d find at a hospital. The name on the chart was Margalo Reeves. Below her lay Vivian, whose hair had surprisingly reappeared on her head, in a thick ponytail.
Vivian groaned, rolling over as her clear blue eyes began to flutter open. As soon as she had regained enough consciousness, she shot up, sheets fluttering everywhere, causing her head to connect with the hardwood bottom of Margalo’s bed with an ear shattering thump.
Margalo jolted up, screaming something incomprehensibly about not shooting her.
“Where’s my dad? What’s going on?! This isn’t the hospital!” Vivian shrieked angrily, recovering quickly from her conk on the head as she slid gracefully onto the hardwood floors of the room she and her confused roommate were in. Her blue eyes scanned the room. It was entirely made of wood, from the dressers to the bunk beds to the walls to the floor. There was a single, silver lantern hanging from the ceiling, swaying back and forth with the motion of the boat. Vivian noticed that all the furniture was bolted to the floor, which made her realize that she was indeed, on a boat.
“Vivian?!” Margalo squealed in surprise, finally realizing what Vivian had: They weren’t in Connecticut anymore, or in Vivian’s case, Philadelphia, PA where she’d been transferred for an immediate liver transplant, hers having been severely damaged in the accident.
Vivian spun around, both in surprise and dread, her azure eyes scanning Margalo’s body up and down. Her hair was the same, familiar, strawberry blonde that it had been when they’d been friends, her eyes the same, deep emerald, except now they were filled with guilt and pain. She was wearing a soft gray nightgown, which matched the huge, almost unnoticeable at first, gray tinged feathery wings which now extended from the middle of Margalo’s thin shoulder blades. “Margalo, you’ve got…” Vivian trailed off, wondering if she’d landed in some bizarre, anesthesia induced dream.
Margalo laughed a short, nervous chuckle before choosing her careful answer, “You’ve got wings too Vivian,” she had nervously spit out the name “Vivian” instead of “Viv” which was the former nickname for her friend. Vivian strained to look over her shoulder, which she now realized was clad in a pale cherry nightgown, as was the rest of her body, down to her bare feet. Over her shoulder, beyond the thick mass of chocolate brown hair was a pair of wings. They looked as though they’d originally been white, and then covered with a dark pink, almost red sheet of ceran wrap.
“So, just because I have wings, I’m Vivian now huh?” Vivian snapped, looking up at Margalo’s pained face. Margalo winced, lowering her emerald gaze to the hardwood floors. “Just because of what that… that ***** said about me!” Tears began to well up in Vivian’s bright blue eyes, the only piece of her mother she’d really inherited.
“Vivian…” Margalo said softly, keeping her tear coated eyes on the floor, “I had nothing to do with it! Okay?! She left me at that party, the one where you walked out. She hit you because SHE was drunk. I didn’t want her to. I told her not to! I didn’t believe her! Just please, please, forgive me,” Margalo had started out yelling, but her voice had shrunk down to a quiet, tearful whisper by the time she’d finished.
Vivian sighed, her eyes filling with tears as well, despite the fact that she was fairly sure that she wasn’t even angry, “Fine. I can tell you believe that story, so, we’ll talk about it later. Right now, we should probably figure out where the hell we are,” Vivian muttered, glancing around the wooden chamber until her eyes reached the scuffed gray door.
“Alright. Thanks Viv,” Margalo said with a small relieved smile.
“For what?” Viv asked, turning from the curious door to her friend with a naturally befuddled look on her face.
“For understanding,” Margalo answered, walking slowly over to her companion, “Now let’s find out where the hell we ARE,”
“Hell?” A feminine voice asked from behind the door. Both girls jumped as the door opened, revealing Katalina, the Elder Angel from The Twilight High School, “Not even close.”
"Time is not what you think. Dying? Not the end of everything. We think it is. But what happens on earth is only the beginning."
-Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
-Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Writer's Babble: Yeah, so I wrote another fic. I realized that band jokes, well, you can only understand them if you're in my band. So, I moved on to an idea that I'd had for a while: Fallen Angels. Surprise, surprise, I got the idea watching Charmed, when Leo fell from grace so he could love Piper. Well, I made up some characters (sorry for the lack of guys, I already have two or three planned out, but they won't debut until later) and poof, here it is. Enjoy. Read, Review, and um, review more.