Wings are special. They're a sign that tells everyone around you that you're important. They tell everyone that you've earned them. They tell everyone that you've got it right the first time. But what if you didn't get it right the first time? What if it took a few tries? But what if you die before your time? Will we all get our wings in time, or is it decided? Was it God's doing? Was it an inventor's doing? An inventor, who was obsessed with control and power? With greed and jealousy? Was it natural? Only the worthy will receive their wings. But in time, they will. Orel was worthy once, but that was a long time ago. He was worthy to receive his wings without distress, but him, being a person what was shrouded in so much darkness and in so much dread, in so much greed and so much want, he would have to work for it. His work would be tedious and hard. It was possible he would not succeed, but that is expected from someone like him. In his past life, Orel was very successful. He had a well-paying job. Well, he had a fantastic paying job. He lived the life of luxury. He never had to move a single finger. It seemed the entire world was at his every whim. He had butlers and maids, personal cobblers and cooks. Anything and everything he could ever want was given to him, and he had wanted nothing more. Because of this, he never was able to settle down. He had no one to share his wealth, or his fortune. The cobblers and cooks, the maids and butlers, and everyone else who served the man well, did not like him or his fortune. It was obvious, by the glares and stares that they gave him. It wasn't hard to realize what was about to happen. One night, one terrible night, he was poisoned. He was poisoned by those people who he calls his friends. They slipped the poison in his wine, and they watched as he went belly up, begging for the sweet relief of death that would not come. Well, it came, but with a price. It came, and while it came, it soon left with him. Orel was swept with the wind, and left the workers and tenders to bask in the newly shared wealth that they all now owned. That was, well, till they all were charged with murder in the first degree. No one showed up to Orel's funeral. Not even the men who were to bury him. Orel, after taking his spiritual departure, met the face of God. " Orel, my son, my boy. You have served the mortal world well. But, you have not served me at all. For that, you are not worthy into my kingdom. " The Ruler started. " Your back is bare, and you are a disgrace to me. You must go, go and help someone with a trouble they are faced with. " And with that, Orel was planted back on Earth. Well, in spirit, in form. The man, now in spirit, had to help a single person. That was when he would be allowed into the realm of paradise and happiness, and he would be able to get his wings. Orel was assigned someone, who was shrouded with as much dread as he was. This person was in a rut. With some form of problem or another-- what it was, he didn't really know. He wasn't assigned anyone personally, but he had a feeling that the girl walking away from him might possibly be the one he was looking for. He sighed. "Great." He muttered, and began to drift after them. Orel had to meet them-- or, try to, but in a way that would seem a little less awkward. He would have to do so, so he could properly explain his situation. He decided to stalk his assigned mortal, and maybe meet them when their guard was down. He was noticed a few times, but he blended in. Only because he seemed like a normal person only to them. It went on for hours, until the human finally stopped, and decided that it was a little weird to see someone hovering a few inches off of the ground.