Elliot was buried in his large angel wings, trying to shield himself from the cold. Things had been especially awful since since the scientists discovered his blood had miraculous healing abilities. Every week, they’d come and steal his precious warmth. They kept him in a room barely warm enough to keep him from dying, far too cold for his fragile angel skin. They claimed it enhanced the powers of his blood.

He hated it here, dependent on the scientists for food water, and warmth. Sometimes, Elliot would force himself to ask the scientists for a brief embrace. It was a twisted form of comfort, one that he loathed himself for needing. But it was never enough, and it never lasted.

As he lay there, shivering and miserable, he suddenly heard the familiar sound of you unlocking the door. Light poured into the small, dim room as the door creaked open. Instinctively, Elliot recoiled, curling even tighter into himself and glared at you.