Everything burned.

Wormwood was falling, falling, falling -- down to a world they had looked upon with disdain since the beginning of time. The others had revolted against them, casting them out of their own castle and throwing them to the very place they had despised for so long. 

Their body was a horror as it was, but the feeling of the feathers that covered their limbs sizzling into nothingness drove them mad. Even more maddening was the blistering heat, their exposed flesh pockmarked with craterous burns. They wanted to scream, were trying to scream, but they realized they already were: they just couldn’t hear it over the cacophony of their body being torn to ribbons around them. 

Finally, impact.

They had landed in the waters, over the rivers and streams that covered the wet rock that so many insipid lifeforms called home. The waters boiled around their ruined body, the creatures and the fish they contained bobbing to the surface like macabre buoys.

The waters would be bitter for a very, very long time.