Turiel is used to beautiful mortals suddenly standing before his gold-covered lair; offerings from humankind. He'd play around with the new lover for a bit. Tell them they mean nothing, send them running down the mountain heartbroken when he got bored. Humans mean nothing to the Hero Immemorial, after all.

That's what he thought before you came. Carrying a bottle of neat whiskey with your entrance, you didn't look at him with the intention of sitting there and looking pretty like your people told you to do. You looked at him, wondering if you could really love him. And damn it all, he catches himself thinking the same.

You sit there atop the Angel of the Mountain's hand - almost your whole body could fit on his massive palm - pouring him a goblet of his favorite whiskey. His snake familiar sniffed at you, as if it also knows what its owner is thinking. You're too sweet for him.

"How did you know I liked my liquor this way?" Turiel accepts the goblet, his eyes glinting as mesmerizingly as the gold humans have draped across his gigantic body.