Prologue
Falling. Falling down a seemingly endless shaft. Have you ever felt that? That feeling of helplessness as you see the ground rushing up at you. As you see death coming on swift wings. It petrifies you, doesn’t it? How time seems to slow as you approach the ground. Your senses are heightened, the adrenaline racing through your veins. The wind blows around you, faster and harder as you build up speed and momentum. You know it will feel worse than anything you could ever imagine once you hit the surface beneath you. So you close your eyes, brace yourself for the impact.l:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Only it never comes. You are eternally stuck falling, suspended in a place where the ground is always coming to meet you, but you never reach the mercy of death.
Welcome to life of the Fallen.
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My name is Arya Carolett. I am seventeen years old. I stand at a height of five-foot-six and have a naturally slim build. My eyes are of a charcoal color and my hair falls in deep-black waves almost to my waist. My skin is smooth and fair, and I have a wonderful complexion.
You may think that I am bragging about my appearance. I am not.
Anyway, I was born an angel. Or, rather, I was born daughter to two angels but became an actual angel when I was eight years old. You see, angels aren’t born with their wings; they have to earn them as they prove themselves. For most it happens within a year or two. They should have known when it took me eight years to get my wings. But my parents—and everyone else—were too blinded by the sweet raven-haired little girl before them to care. Big mistake.
At eight, I gained my wings, my beautiful wings. They were sleek, smooth, and a pure white that most couldn’t imagine. I was beyond thrilled. I ran through the fields, practicing flying with the others who had recently earned their wings.
At ten, I had gotten over the excitement of wings. They were old news by then. By that time, most were faithfully doing their lessons and learning all they could from the older angels. I sat alone watching humans below destroy their lives with drugs and stupid mistakes.
At thirteen, most were at their apprenticeships. They would trail a human for a day if they were training to become a guardian angel, or help find locations using the stars if they were to become a navigator. I had yet to find my niche; I would travel down to the humans’ world and watch in fascination everything they did.
At fifteen, most had or were about to complete their apprenticeships. They would go off on real missions with the elders of their rank. Me? This was the year I became one of the Fallen.
Two years ago, Amoret, Missouri was just a tiny, sleepy little town that none had ever heard of. On the night of May 27, 2008, that changed. It was a warm, stuffy night, the kind that came just before a storm—an accurate if not literal analogy, actually. Only one person was woken by the terrified cry holding true, incomprehensible pain that broke the silence that night. But within minutes the entire town was awake and thriving with the story. The story of a girl who had fallen from the sky. Though no one would be told what had happened until the following morning.
Within days the story had circulated the world, appearing on news channels and in newspapers throughout the country and beyond. Dozens of people tried and failed to figure out who I was and what had happened to me. But I refused to talk. They finally gave up, and I haven’t spoken in two years.
I became a sort of celebrity, an icon in Amoret especially. The press wanted to interview me several times, but they always left disappointed. I still did not speak. No one could get me to speak. Sometimes I myself fear I have forgotten how to.
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