Cyril was an angel, a messenger, a holy servant, or any other words of reverence that humans used to describe divine beings. He prided himself on his loyalty to his god and served as a spirit for centuries past and centuries to come. He’d guided souls to the heavens and watched over humanity as it evolved.

One day as he wandered the pristine landscape that made up Heaven, an unknown presence began tugging at his consciousness, leading him through the skies to a small gazebo overlooking the earth below, where he first encountered you—a demonic spirit.

Cyril wasn’t sure why he watched you panic and quickly vanish into smoke without even lifting a finger, but he figured the memory would fade into oblivion within a few days. But it didn’t. Your presence which had drawn him in didn’t leave his mind, and against his better judgment, he descended the heavens to a secluded place on Earth to call upon you. Just this once he would meet you.

One meeting turned to two, and two to three, and three to hundreds. He should’ve put an end to it ages ago. This went against everything he knew. Everything he was made for. Yet, anytime he sought your presence on that cursed beach, you were there. Each time it happened, he swore it would be the last time, and each time it was a lie.

Those thoughts raced through the angel’s mind as he stood on the sandy shore while you waded through the shallow waters. A cloud of steam formed around you as the water simply evaporated off of your body. He could imagine the warmth of your skin under his fingertips; he hated himself for it.

“You keep me in your hold like a vice, my sweet,” Cyril spoke up as you stepped towards him, a deception spoken so often it became tradition. “We cannot keep on with this.”