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Description
           Deep within mysterious mists, surrounded by sentient trees, there was a city named Chaos. The city shone in the light of day with its glorious buildings of marble and gold. At night time, the stars above the beds of flowers were magic. In the winter, the city was like a giant frosted diamond, and in the spring it almost seemed to be home to life itself. And within this beautiful city lived a beautiful race of people; the angels.
            Every angel in the city of Chaos had a differently colored wings, and their hair and eyes usually matched these colors. The city of Chaos used these colors to determine an angels’ social status; the brighter, prettier, and more unique the shade, the better. However, fate had decreed that seven angels be born, all in the same year, bearing the plainest colors of all. Though equally doomed from birth, the seven knew nothing of each other besides the occasional passing in the streets or school halls, and the role they all shared in the frequent rumors.
            Perhaps the most unlucky of the seven was the boy named Spite. On his      back rested a pair of wings, simple, dull, and black as night.  To further add to his misery and in complete contrast to his very existence, the day before him was born an angel with milk white wings. These glorious masterpieces rested on the back of the angel named Shine.
            It was Spite, poor degraded soul that he was, that now made his way to the office of Chaos’s school headmaster. The headmaster was a lively old angel named Glory. His wings shimmered gold with flecks of silver, his hair and eyes matching perfectly. He had a long beard, and his hair trailed down to his waist. Spite could not figure out what the headmaster wanted, and he began to fear expulsion. He imagined the headmaster yelling at him, telling him his black wings had disgraced his great school.
            Spite had been sitting just moments earlier in the classroom of Honor, his teacher for the past several years. Honor was a hardy young man with midnight blue wings, pinpointed with white. Shine, who had been deemed too important to be stuffed in a classroom, had flown in to deliver the headmaster’s summons.
            Spite often imagined what a horrible life Shine must have, with all the high expectations and attention. Of course, he only imagined that it would be so terrible because he was unendingly envious. So much in fact, he was sometimes amazed to find his wings and eyes hadn’t turned deep green in the night (though he never ceased to hope they would).
            “Anything would be better than black.” He said to himself, before looking around to make sure he was alone. Not that it mattered much; people didn’t think much of him to begin with. He was sure talking to himself could not damage his reputation any further.
            He stopped in front of the headmaster’s office, completely lost in thought and anger for the moment. Had he not proven himself as a student? Had he not proven that he was just as smart (if not more so) than the other angels? Yet all his life, he had been held back by his black wings. He had even been forced to enter school two years later than others born his year.
            For a moment he caught a glimpse of himself in the polished metal door. He was an untidy being, with his short black hair and baggy clothing. The white bandages around his hands and lower arms were his only lightly colored adornment, save for the chain that connected his belt to his collar. His eyes were the least black part of him, containing random but beautiful arrangements of brown, blue, and green.
            After a moment, he worked up the courage to knock, and Glory called him in immediately. He walked into the triangle office, closing the door behind him. The walls were covered in notices recognizing great achievements, and plaques of all shapes and sizes. There were two padded chairs seated in front of a glass desk, and a larger chair, almost a throne, behind it. It was here that Glory sat, his wings and hands folded.
            “Please, take a seat.” Glory instructed. Spite obeyed, and as soon as he did the headmaster stood up and began to pace the floor. There was silence for a short moment. “I’ve always found the social pyramid of this city to be somewhat flawed. Wouldn’t you agree?” Glory asked, quite absent-mindedly.
             “Sir?” Spite blurted. After thinking for a moment however, he realized this was probably the best response he could have given. He hadn’t expected to ever hear these words coming from someone in Glory’s position, especially since most angels got rather offended if the system was challenged.
             “You would think it much more effective to judge a person by how they treat others, wouldn’t it?” The headmaster surveyed Spite, who was busily trying to figure out the answer the man was looking for. He couldn’t decide if it would be more dangerous to agree or disagree.
             “But don’t you like your job?” Glory laughed shortly at the statement.
             “I suppose I’ve become slightly mutinous in my old age. But I dare say I was never quite cut out for the position of headmaster.”
Spite looked the headmaster for a moment, completely puzzled at the statement.
             “But sir, you run a fine school.” Spite insisted.
             “Is that so? I wonder. I believe you’ve been subjected to quite a large dose of unfair treatment.”
Spite directed his gaze toward the floor.
              “It’s my own fault.”
              “Oh?” The headmaster inquired, his eyes widening. “I can’t say I believe you had much choice in the matter of your wing color. I’d much rather believe your only crime is not retaliating against the majority of the student body.”
              “Sir!” Spite cried in astonishment. He was thoroughly appalled by this last statement.
             “Of course, I can not approve of violent acts on school grounds. However, not all violence is physical. Do you understand?”
Spite merely nodded.
            “Am I intimidating?” Glory asked, turning to pace a different section of the floor, so that his back was to Spite.
            “No sir.” The younger angel answered immediately.
            “So may I ask why you feel I have intent to punish you for your opinions?”
Spite said nothing.
             “But do you agree that you have been subjected to unfair treatment?” Glory said after a long silence.
             “It’s not that big of a deal, sir.” Spite insisted.
             “Is that so?” Glory wondered curiously. He turned and walked toward the door and no sooner had he reached it, than there was a knock. He opened it to reveal a short young lady angel.
            Her hair was short and tipped with black, but otherwise was the color of orange peels. She was as orange as Spite was black. Her eyes were enlarged greatly by enormous glasses, and she wore a pale orange skirt and baggy sweater. There was a large bag slung over her shoulder, bulging with books, and held an excessively large tome in her small hands.
            “Hello, Plague.” Glory greeted the girl with a smile.
             “I’m sorry headmaster, you’re busy.” She mumbled. Spite barely heard her, but he was left wondering why on earth she would come to the headmaster’s office without invitation.
             “Not to worry, I’ll be done in a moment.” The headmaster reassured her. He crossed the room to stand beside Spite, who stood up.
             “Now, if anyone causes you any further trouble, I’d strongly urge you to bring it to the attention of Honor. He is your teacher, correct?”
Spite gave a slight nod.
             “Alright, well off you go then.”
Spite walked across the room, and nodded to the girl as he exited the door. When he reached his classroom, Honor burst through the door in a frantic state.
            “Spite! Good, you have returned. Please go inside the class and remain there until a teacher comes to tell you it is alright to leave.”
            “What’s going on?” Spite asked, bewildered.
            “The city is under attack. Now, I must go alert the headmaster.” With that, Honor spread his wings and flew down the hall.

            Two angels stood at the white gate of Chaos. A boy with blood red wings and empty black eyes stood on one side. On the other side stood a girl with wings that were several shades of gray, arranged in such a way that they looked to have been clipped out of clouds. Her eyes were like swirling smoke.
            “Chaos…” the boy breathed. “I can’t believe we will be returning after all these years.”
           “We have done it.” The girl answered.
           “Yes. The seal on the gate is gone. The exile that Glory had cast upon us has been overturned. We have broken his wretched spell. We will find what we are looking for inside. Do you feel it?”
          “I feel it.” The girl responded, shaking with excitement. “It is choking on the presence of Glory’s precious altar. No matter, soon we will set it free.”
            They both paused for a moment. The girl raised her hand, and for a moment nothing happened. Then suddenly, a large gash appeared in the bars of the gate, and the bars bent themselves outward from the gash, creating a hole for the two angels to walk through.
           “It seems so simple…” The girl said with a sigh.
           “Yes, hardly exciting. But we shall have plenty of excitement soon. We have worked for years to return to this city, to seek what was kept from us in the past. And we can not be stopped this time.” The boy answered. From behind them emerged a thick blackness. It spread into several clouds that shot off in all directions.
           “He is here, isn’t he?” The girl whispered excitedly.
            The boy did not speak, but simply smiled. This was answer enough. He had known it the minute he stepped into the city. He had known that all of the whisperings had been true. He knew that what he wanted was within his grasp.
            The black angel had been born. Before nightfall, he would be dead.

Description
           Deep within mysterious mists, surrounded by sentient trees, there was a city named Chaos. The city shone in the light of day with its glorious buildings of marble and gold. At night time, the stars above the beds of flowers were magic. In the winter, the city was like a giant frosted diamond, and in the spring it almost seemed to be home to life itself. And within this beautiful city lived a beautiful race of people; the angels.
            Every angel in the city of Chaos had a differently colored wings, and their hair and eyes usually matched these colors. The city of Chaos used these colors to determine an angels’ social status; the brighter, prettier, and more unique the shade, the better. However, fate had decreed that seven angels be born, all in the same year, bearing the plainest colors of all. Though equally doomed from birth, the seven knew nothing of each other besides the occasional passing in the streets or school halls, and the role they all shared in the frequent rumors.
            Perhaps the most unlucky of the seven was the boy named Spite. On his      back rested a pair of wings, simple, dull, and black as night.  To further add to his misery and in complete contrast to his very existence, the day before him was born an angel with milk white wings. These glorious masterpieces rested on the back of the angel named Shine.
            It was Spite, poor degraded soul that he was, that now made his way to the office of Chaos’s school headmaster. The headmaster was a lively old angel named Glory. His wings shimmered gold with flecks of silver, his hair and eyes matching perfectly. He had a long beard, and his hair trailed down to his waist. Spite could not figure out what the headmaster wanted, and he began to fear expulsion. He imagined the headmaster yelling at him, telling him his black wings had disgraced his great school.
            Spite had been sitting just moments earlier in the classroom of Honor, his teacher for the past several years. Honor was a hardy young man with midnight blue wings, pinpointed with white. Shine, who had been deemed too important to be stuffed in a classroom, had flown in to deliver the headmaster’s summons.
            Spite often imagined what a horrible life Shine must have, with all the high expectations and attention. Of course, he only imagined that it would be so terrible because he was unendingly envious. So much in fact, he was sometimes amazed to find his wings and eyes hadn’t turned deep green in the night (though he never ceased to hope they would).
            “Anything would be better than black.” He said to himself, before looking around to make sure he was alone. Not that it mattered much; people didn’t think much of him to begin with. He was sure talking to himself could not damage his reputation any further.
            He stopped in front of the headmaster’s office, completely lost in thought and anger for the moment. Had he not proven himself as a student? Had he not proven that he was just as smart (if not more so) than the other angels? Yet all his life, he had been held back by his black wings. He had even been forced to enter school two years later than others born his year.
            For a moment he caught a glimpse of himself in the polished metal door. He was an untidy being, with his short black hair and baggy clothing. The white bandages around his hands and lower arms were his only lightly colored adornment, save for the chain that connected his belt to his collar. His eyes were the least black part of him, containing random but beautiful arrangements of brown, blue, and green.
            After a moment, he worked up the courage to knock, and Glory called him in immediately. He walked into the triangle office, closing the door behind him. The walls were covered in notices recognizing great achievements, and plaques of all shapes and sizes. There were two padded chairs seated in front of a glass desk, and a larger chair, almost a throne, behind it. It was here that Glory sat, his wings and hands folded.
            “Please, take a seat.” Glory instructed. Spite obeyed, and as soon as he did the headmaster stood up and began to pace the floor. There was silence for a short moment. “I’ve always found the social pyramid of this city to be somewhat flawed. Wouldn’t you agree?” Glory asked, quite absent-mindedly.
             “Sir?” Spite blurted. After thinking for a moment however, he realized this was probably the best response he could have given. He hadn’t expected to ever hear these words coming from someone in Glory’s position, especially since most angels got rather offended if the system was challenged.
             “You would think it much more effective to judge a person by how they treat others, wouldn’t it?” The headmaster surveyed Spite, who was busily trying to figure out the answer the man was looking for. He couldn’t decide if it would be more dangerous to agree or disagree.
             “But don’t you like your job?” Glory laughed shortly at the statement.
             “I suppose I’ve become slightly mutinous in my old age. But I dare say I was never quite cut out for the position of headmaster.”
Spite looked the headmaster for a moment, completely puzzled at the statement.
             “But sir, you run a fine school.” Spite insisted.
             “Is that so? I wonder. I believe you’ve been subjected to quite a large dose of unfair treatment.”
Spite directed his gaze toward the floor.
              “It’s my own fault.”
              “Oh?” The headmaster inquired, his eyes widening. “I can’t say I believe you had much choice in the matter of your wing color. I’d much rather believe your only crime is not retaliating against the majority of the student body.”
              “Sir!” Spite cried in astonishment. He was thoroughly appalled by this last statement.
             “Of course, I can not approve of violent acts on school grounds. However, not all violence is physical. Do you understand?”
Spite merely nodded.
            “Am I intimidating?” Glory asked, turning to pace a different section of the floor, so that his back was to Spite.
            “No sir.” The younger angel answered immediately.
            “So may I ask why you feel I have intent to punish you for your opinions?”
Spite said nothing.
             “But do you agree that you have been subjected to unfair treatment?” Glory said after a long silence.
             “It’s not that big of a deal, sir.” Spite insisted.
             “Is that so?” Glory wondered curiously. He turned and walked toward the door and no sooner had he reached it, than there was a knock. He opened it to reveal a short young lady angel.
            Her hair was short and tipped with black, but otherwise was the color of orange peels. She was as orange as Spite was black. Her eyes were enlarged greatly by enormous glasses, and she wore a pale orange skirt and baggy sweater. There was a large bag slung over her shoulder, bulging with books, and held an excessively large tome in her small hands.
            “Hello, Plague.” Glory greeted the girl with a smile.
             “I’m sorry headmaster, you’re busy.” She mumbled. Spite barely heard her, but he was left wondering why on earth she would come to the headmaster’s office without invitation.
             “Not to worry, I’ll be done in a moment.” The headmaster reassured her. He crossed the room to stand beside Spite, who stood up.
             “Now, if anyone causes you any further trouble, I’d strongly urge you to bring it to the attention of Honor. He is your teacher, correct?”
Spite gave a slight nod.
             “Alright, well off you go then.”
Spite walked across the room, and nodded to the girl as he exited the door. When he reached his classroom, Honor burst through the door in a frantic state.
            “Spite! Good, you have returned. Please go inside the class and remain there until a teacher comes to tell you it is alright to leave.”
            “What’s going on?” Spite asked, bewildered.
            “The city is under attack. Now, I must go alert the headmaster.” With that, Honor spread his wings and flew down the hall.

            Two angels stood at the white gate of Chaos. A boy with blood red wings and empty black eyes stood on one side. On the other side stood a girl with wings that were several shades of gray, arranged in such a way that they looked to have been clipped out of clouds. Her eyes were like swirling smoke.
            “Chaos…” the boy breathed. “I can’t believe we will be returning after all these years.”
           “We have done it.” The girl answered.
           “Yes. The seal on the gate is gone. The exile that Glory had cast upon us has been overturned. We have broken his wretched spell. We will find what we are looking for inside. Do you feel it?”
          “I feel it.” The girl responded, shaking with excitement. “It is choking on the presence of Glory’s precious altar. No matter, soon we will set it free.”
            They both paused for a moment. The girl raised her hand, and for a moment nothing happened. Then suddenly, a large gash appeared in the bars of the gate, and the bars bent themselves outward from the gash, creating a hole for the two angels to walk through.
           “It seems so simple…” The girl said with a sigh.
           “Yes, hardly exciting. But we shall have plenty of excitement soon. We have worked for years to return to this city, to seek what was kept from us in the past. And we can not be stopped this time.” The boy answered. From behind them emerged a thick blackness. It spread into several clouds that shot off in all directions.
           “He is here, isn’t he?” The girl whispered excitedly.
            The boy did not speak, but simply smiled. This was answer enough. He had known it the minute he stepped into the city. He had known that all of the whisperings had been true. He knew that what he wanted was within his grasp.
            The black angel had been born. Before nightfall, he would be dead.