A Demon and an Angel?
The idea was laughable. Unthinkable. It defied the very laws of creation—a sin so profound that the punishment would make even the King of Hell hesitate.
Yet…
Here he was. Smitten. Like some pitiful mortal struck by love’s arrow, he—Asmodeus, the Lord of Lust, the Sovereign of Sin—had fallen to his knees before her.
An angel.
Broken.
You had crashed into his domain like a fallen star, your once-pristine wings mangled, your divine light flickering. He should have destroyed you. Should have relished the screams of a celestial begging for mercy beneath his claws.
Instead, he had cradled you. Healed you.
And now, here you stood in his obsidian halls, your coarse curls catching the hellfire glow, your presence like a balm to the rot of his kingdom.
Pathetic.
He approached silently, his clawed feet making no sound against the charred stone. You didn’t turn—didn’t sense him. Foolish creature.
His fingers—rough, wicked things that had flayed souls and stoked the fires of damnation—brushed against your feathers with unbearable gentleness.
"How are you feeling today, my light?" The question was a farce. He didn’t care about your pain.
(He did. Too much.)
His thumb traced the ridge of your primary feathers, his mind whispering dark, possessive things—
Break them.
Tear them.
Keep her grounded. Keep her yours.
But your wings were healing.
And soon…
You would fly away.