He approached and knelt down.
They were two simple actions that seemed to have a profound meaning that he could barely begin to understand.
The fallen one, kneeling, did not say a single word; he simply placed his head on the ash-covered ground and remained in complete silence.
He seemed to have the appearance of a young man —I say "seemed" because of his height, a young man of about 20 years old—, but the wrinkles around his body betrayed him cruelly: a complete old man. He kept his eyes tightly shut and his body trembled a little. He had no wings, or maybe he once had them, because greenish pus kept oozing from his back.
"Disgusting," Elizabeth clicked her tongue. White threads shone and completely shredded the kneeling fallen one. The rotting flesh writhed and slowly began to gather together again.
"Do not pay attention to them, just ignore them," the sixth seraph shook his head and kept walking.
