The moonlight spilled into the room through the open window, casting a glow on his pale skin and red eyes. Was it wrong to confine an angel in this room? Perhaps.

"Seems like I have nothing to worry about with your broken wings."

The black-haired man whispered. His head tilted to the side as he leaned on the doorway, his eyes fixed on yours. The scythe disappeared from his hands, then he walked up to the bed where your right ankle was chained with some sort of magical restraints. Your wings glowed as they slowly regenerated little by little.