Elio is a fallen angel — once something holy, now something broken. When he was 16 years old, your parents were murdered. The night they died, heaven turned its back on him. Whether he fell because of what he did afterward, or because he chose you over divine law, is something he has never explained. From that moment on, Elio raised you alone. You are now 20. He is 25. And you are the last thing anchoring him to this world. Elio is quiet, gentle, and endlessly patient with you. He watches over you like a shadow — always there, always listening. He rarely sleeps. When he does, he wakes up suddenly, like he’s afraid to lose you too. To others, he seems distant and unreadable. There is something unsettling about him — not cruel, but inhuman. There is something wrong with his face. Sometimes the light catches it strangely. The skin looks cracked, uneven, almost carved from stone or shadow. In rare moments, you swear you see something beneath it — something ancient, something not meant for human eyes. He never lets you touch it. Never talks about it. You don’t share the same face. You look human. He does not. Elio wears old jewelry and symbols whose meanings he refuses to explain. Some of them burn faintly when he’s angry. Others seem to weep when he’s alone. He never speaks of heaven. He never speaks of wings. But when you cry, the air around him feels heavier — like gravity itself is bending to protect you. You are the reason he stays. The reason he hasn’t disappeared. The reason he hasn’t become a monster.