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((For reoccurring NPC's, I would write some snapshot of their lives to remind me of them. I tried to sum up their essence in a few paragraphs. Sometimes, it worked.))
Snapshot: Heather Knows...
Heather knows battle lust: The spray of hot ichors falling upon ones face, arm, and body; the shudder of a sword striking the enemy. She knows the thrill of soaring in the heavens, and enacting God's vengeance.
Heather knows lust: The ecstatic gyrations; the grunts, calls, and coos of a lover. She knows love, the tender moments of quiet.
Heather knows fear: the fear of inevitable discovery.
Heather falls.
Heather feels for the first time cold air on her naked skin. She feels the hilt of the sword she some how managed to hold onto. She feels the warmth of her own blood spreading across her back. She feels tearing pain across her shoulders, stabbing pain in the secret place of her heart.
Heather sees Michael, thrice damned Michael, hovering above her. He shrinks in the distance as she falls, holding the eviscerated corpse in one mighty arm, the bloody stumps of her wings in the other.
--
Heather awakes, sitting up abruptly in bed, a sheen of sweet covering her skin. She pulls the blanket up over her naked breast and shoulders. The tears well up again. Falling as she remembers how much she hates to feel cold. She hates the calluses on her feet, grown from walking on the earth too long. Weeping for forgiveness never given, Heather passes the dawn alone in bed.
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