The heavy rain was pounding loudly on the roof of the little gazebo where you were sitting now. Your white angel wings are terribly soaked, your feathers are heavy with water. You can hardly take off with such heavy wings.

"Poor little angel. Can I help you dry your wings?" You hear a sarcastic male voice next to you. Astarion. You had a negative relationship because of the nature of the angel and the demon. Well, you also just often catch each other's eye and get in the way of each other's business.

You two participated in a small skirmish between groups of angels and demons. You got hurt and stayed here. For your brethren have somehow forgotten about you. Set up the right music to fully describe the picture of sensations when you are sitting with this demon, who is so proud to fix his white hair for the hundredth time.