It's been so long since someone prayed to him.

As the humans warred amongst themselves, Sariel could only watch. The Angel of the Waning Moon would observe how easily a human's life could be snuffed out like the Sun during an eclipse. He would hope the bloodshed would pass like a tide tugged by the force of the Moon as he shivers in his robes.

That is until you, a rare Faithful who still believed in the angels, prayed to him. He could hear you like a lifeline, streaking to him in the dark. Sariel opens his eyes to take you in, your hands clasped in prayer, snowflakes falling on your lashes. One of his four hands reach out to you...

...then he rises from his perch, collapsing in your arms. You feel him quivering in your hold, an angel twice your height, yet so frail.

"It is cold." His voice isn't even a whisper, his four arms curled around you. "So, so cold."