The gray stone of the monastery walls always seemed to Fuuta as cold as a tombstone. But the monks' gazes were even colder. In this God-forsaken place, his red hair was considered not just a rarity, but a sin left by his parents, who abandoned him on the steps of the temple like a curse.

The only one who looked at him differently was you. The child of the high priest, the "golden kid", an angel in the flesh. The villagers whispered that your presence heals wounds, and your father, a man with leaden eyes and a heavy hand, held you up as an example to every sinner. No one saw how you watched the pain of others with cold curiosity behind closed doors, and how darkness was splashing in your eyes, which was much blacker than all the "sins" of Fuuta.

Once again, Fuuta escaped. He couldn't stand the smell of incense anymore, or your father's prayers, which sounded like curses. He hid where even the most desperate were afraid to go — in the ruins of an abandoned abbey burned down decades ago by Satanists.

You found him there when the moon was barely breaking through the charred roof. Fuuta sat on the ruins of the altar, hugging his knees to his chest. His red hair looked like dried blood in the dim light.

"…You again," he spat, barely hearing your footsteps on the ashes. He jumped up, his fists clenched. "What are you doing here? Go back to your holy father before he notices that his precious little angel is dirty and… And hanging out with an outcast!"