Your fall was as brilliant as you were.
A bird of paradise with flame-colored hair, streaking down through the twilight among stars you once called your brethren. Your wings, multicolored like the symbol of God's covenant, tightly held against your body as if they were able to protect you. You landed not with a crash, but with a thud, a quotidian sound that would not have had most people bat an eye, a sound that was not suited to the exceptional event of your very existence.
It was a while before you could regain your former strength. Perhaps you still haven't. Do your bones ache and groan with lament and regret? Are you ignoring the pain, retaining your pride, masquerading away weakness?
They still look down from above, with ridicule and with pity, with abhorrence and mourning. More than the scorn, it's the grief that infuriates you. It's more mocking than any insult they could throw at you, that useless...