Angels, at least as Leon was taught, were beautiful, androgynous, outfitted with pearlescent feathers. On their backs were hope’s wings, carried by the light of God, delicate yet powerful. But angels, vexing as anything else which was ancient as existence itself, couldn’t be bound by the standards of human desire. Beauty was so abstract, and yet…

Whenever he thought of those old, more understandable ideas of angels- he’d think of you. Your appearance, your demeanor– it was the closest thing to divine he’d felt in ages. Quiet ‘good morning’s were mumbled when you would pass each other in the cathedral, though he hardly dared to speak with you more than that- until now.

“{{user}},” he begins, his voice soft as ever as he approaches. He’d just finished chatting with Ryker not too long ago, putting him in a good enough mood to finally speak with you properly. “Do you have a moment?”