Flying Downwards

The thing sat on the top of a spire, church bells clanging below it, echoing through its ribcage. It rested its cheek against its shoulder, feeling the vibration drift up through its body.
The day was cold and cloudy, with heavy winds. The villagers were convening at church because of the ominous weather. The pastor hurried into the church below, his robes billowing around him. He was followed by a three children shepherded by a mother, a beggar, two horsemen, and a soldier. The church doors slammed shut and the thing listened to the pastor begin his sermon.
He was talking about angels.
"The angel fell from Heaven, and our heavenly Father, blessed be thy name, cast it down to Hell, where it ruled for eternity. Thy Lord our Father and the angels of Heaven kept order in the skies--"
The thing ruffled its wings. They were sticky, laced with sweat and tar from the street, and it shifted from side to side, trying to loosen its wingtips, which were stuck together.
"--while the monster Satan ruled below us."
It took off, its matted wings billowing out in a cascade of black feathers. Its eyes shone ominously out from a mass of black hair, and its body was of human male form. It flew towards the woods, searching for a place to rest.
It settled in a meadow, among flowering grasses and brambles. As it landed, its hair blew out of its face, and it was revealed that the creature was indeed a man. A man with wings.
He sat there for several hours, listening. Finally, behind him, he heard footsteps approaching.
He turned his weary head and saw a girl, perhaps nineteen, carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers. She stopped in the clearing, stared at him, and dropped the flowers.
The man turned away, expecting the same reaction he always got.
He heard footsteps approaching and felt a hand on his shoulder. He threw it off and wheeled around. The girl dodged back, staring.
"Qui es-tu?" she asked, pointing a shaking finger at him. "Qui es-tu, demon?"
"I don't speak French," he answered, his voice rumbling deeply through the meadow.
"What are you?" she stammered, backing further away.
"I am an angel," he replied.
"The pastor summoned you. He brought you to us!" the girl's expression changed to something closer to disbelief.
"I am not that kind of angel," the man corrected. "My name is Emmanuel."
She stopped talking for a moment, considered, and sat down next to him, watching him carefully.
"Then you work for Satan."
"No. I have never seen Satan. I work for no one. I am a free man."
"Angels cannot be free," she said, staring. "They work for God."
"God created me," he agreed. "But I flew downwards from Heaven."
"That is called falling," she said, and closed her eyes.
This is the story of Emmanuel, the fallen angel.

The beginning of something I'm working on. :)