Wind howled, air rushing past as if it had somewhere it urgently needed to be. Long hair whipped in its midst. Startling blue eyes took in scuttling clouds and scurrying people. Long legs gave way to black shoes perched lightly on a spire obstructed from common view by a thick layer of dark cloud. The legs seems to shift with the wind, swaying to and fro, even as the one they belonged to hummed a slow, sweet melody. Thunder rolled loudly as the figure stepped away from the spire; he was as calm and serene as if there were another platform for him to step onto, something to keep him in the clouds. But there wasn't and he felt his stomach drop as he began to plummet earthwards; he couldn't help but be reminded of all when he had first tried this; that had been long ago, much longer than anyone had business remembering. But he did, and, pulling himself up onto the spire once again, he grinned wildly as he recalled the experience; it had been one of many, but it stood out from the many, even this many years later. He would have begun to lose himself in then had nature not had plans for now.The sky began to smell of burning and before even he could react, it was ablaze; slender beams of light seemed to ricochet from cloud to cloud, sparks burst and met; it was glorious to watch and feel; he could taste the energy; he felt intoxicated by the power, the intrigue, the danger. This could very well be his last foray and he wasn't ready for that- but he wasn't quite ready to go down either, so he stayed and smelled and tasted and breathed. More and more cracks seemed to erupt from the sky as the world was illuminated brighter than he could ever remember having seen it down there. The flashes seemed to be moving towards him, slowly but surely. He wondered if this was how his prey felt, particularly those who wanted it, or those who were intrigued by the idea, frightened but intrigued. These feelings stirred in him memories, memories long since buried underneath the weight of millions more, but memories that were more real than any other, and memories that stood out in stark relief now. He recalled days of childhood playing with fire, venturing where he knew he shouldn't for fear of the beasts that lurked, but never being too afraid to not do what he loved or wanted for that matter. He found himself in land that had been destroyed under the weight of humanity long ago; he tasted water that did not flow any longer and he felt entranced by a sky that was not so blue anymore. He often strayed from these recollections but this time he stayed; he did not know why; he was not planning on ending his own existence; this was not a farewell lap, but he remembered- or he would have had he not been wrenched from his own history by a peculiar scent; it was natural and unnatural; it soothed and scared; it was all-consuming, yet he could barely make it out above the smell of the rain. As he looked about him, he also felt a piercing pain in his chest; looking down, he saw that his shirt had been burnt and now hung loose revealing charred flesh. He had been struck; he began to feel dizzy and weak. His strength seemed to be fading, but one thought remained in his mind; he had to get down; he was too close to the clouds, and yet didn't humans say something about never striking twice. He could not remember, could not muster the energy to leave, and yet was too unstable to stay. He felt himself fall and as he tumbled through the air, turning over and over, he felt blood and mortal sustenance push against his mouth, overpower his feeble muscles and empty into the sky.