Prelude

He was the darkness. His wings, feathered with the tint of a moonless night. His hair, the exact hue of nothingness. Living in Hell, driven to madness by the everlasting lightless fires, Ryoma imagined himself as loathsome, unfit to be looked upon by anyone. He despised himself, his feathered wings that singled him out from the rest of Hell's inhabitants. He used to hang around them, until he found their devouring glances too hard to bear. Having no reflections in Hell, Ryoma believed that they looked at him in disgust, his face so hideous as to draw the curious glances rather than turn them away, shuddering in horror. So, he chose to keep to himself, near the outskirts, his sorrow overwhelming his mind.

He was the opposite, the light. His feathered wings were as white as the purest snow, his hair the shade of wheat. Living in Heaven, all should have been well for Fuji. Somehow, though, something was wrong, something was missing in his perfect life. Heaven was paradise; there was no pain, no sickness, no sins like the one that plagued mortals. So, why was Fuji left feeling like there was something wrong? He still smiled, though, when he was expected to, laughed when his companions told a joke. But, in the privacy of his mind, locked deep away as to keep it from breaking free and showing in his character, Fuji's thoughts wandered over to the possibility of life outside Heaven.

This is where the story begins.

A/N- Oh, curse you, John Milton. You and your Paradise Lost, with its vivid images of Hell Okay, just to start off, I want to mention that I'm not trying to convert anyone with a religious fic. I just wanted to try out the setting, see if it's in any way intriguing to the reader. Anyone sense a good story going on? -wink-

So, comments, constructive criticism, suggestions? "Flames used to fry bacon." (I forget which author said that, but it's pretty apt for the situation.)

-The Unreal Phantom