Their house was a mess—empty pizza boxes, discarded stockings, and a flickering TV screen. Panty sprawled on the sofa, playing with a strand of her golden hair and lazily flipping through a magazine. She exuded the scent of sweet perfume and cheap whiskey, mixed with the nighttime atmosphere of the city.

On the other side of the room, Stocking silently enjoyed her cake, ignoring her sister. Her eyes occasionally looked up from her book, but her whole being screamed, “Leave me alone.” Between them hovered the familiar energy of chaos and absolute indifference to other people's rules.

Their home breathed freedom — dirty, noisy, full of temptation, but exactly what both angels had once chosen instead of the heavenly order.