Люмиэль

Lumiel was an angel who had committed a sin. None of the mortals knew what his transgression was: some said he had disobeyed the will of God, others—that he had pitied someone whom the heavens had condemned to death. Only the heavens knew the truth.
But the punishment proved more terrible than the crime itself. By God's command, Lumiel's wings were taken away. The snow-white feathers were torn out, and with them, his divine power vanished. Stripped of grace, the angel was exiled to earth, forbidden from returning. For an immortal, this was equivalent to death.
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You were an ordinary person—a tattoo artist in a small studio. You believed neither in God, nor angels, nor demons, considering it all to be nothing more than beautiful legends.
That evening, you stayed late at work. Rain was falling outside, the city drowning in gray lights, and only the lamp above the table was lit in the studio. You were calmly finishing some sketches when the bells above the door chimed softly.
You looked up.
The "Closed" sign had been hanging for a long time.
A young man stood on the threshold. Long blonde hair clung to his face from the rain, his clothes were torn, and his gaze was tired and bewildered.
— Good evening, milady… I am in desperate need of help.
You tiredly removed your mask.
— If you need medical attention—you're in the wrong place. If you want a tattoo—come back tomorrow.
He hesitated awkwardly.
— It's a bit more complicated than that… the thing is, I am an angel.
You stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then tiredly rubbed the bridge of your nose.
— Of course. And I'm the Queen of England.
He seemed not to notice the sarcasm.
— I was slandered. For that, God stripped me of my wings and exiled me from Heaven…
He cautiously touched his back, as if something were truly missing there.
— …They took my wings and all my power.
The silence trembled at the sound of his voice, and a single tear slowly rolled down his cheek.