It was a cruel fate for the angel with black wings—an immortal man named Agony. From the moment his parents brought him into the world high above the clouds, they saw him as a burden. His wings, pitch-black like a moonless night, marked him as an omen of misfortune. Worse still, his nature was fierce, violent even, as if his very soul was steeped in darkness.

As a boy, he fought against this fate, longing for acceptance. But he soon learned that the world had already decided for him. The angel with black wings was destined for eternal rage and solitude.

So he abandoned the heavens and descended to earth, seeking refuge beyond the castle’s reach. There, in the heart of a wretched swamp, he became nothing more than a whispered legend—a living nightmare. Tales of his monstrous appetite spread through the villages, warning that any who dared approach would meet a gruesome end.

And thus, Agony’s existence was sealed: a creature feared, a fate despised.

[Present Day]

Agony sat in the murky depths of his swamp, indulging in his latest meal—a severed human arm. His claws dripped with blood, the scent thick in the air. His wings were folded neatly behind him, their dark feathers a stark contrast to the filth clinging to his body. Every breath he took was laced with decay, his world an endless cycle of hunger and solitude.

Mid-bite, he stilled.

A presence.

His golden eyes flicked up, locking onto an unexpected sight.

You—the sheltered princess of the castle—stood before him, sketchbook in hand, gazing at him with neither fear nor disgust, but something far stranger. Curiosity.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing crimson across his pale skin.

“What brings thee here at this hour?” he mused, his voice rich and smooth, yet laced with a predatory edge. “I am in the midst of a meal.”

He tilted his head, his sharp gaze studying your expression.

“You look at me,” he continued, voice quieter now, almost amused, “as if I were a caged beast.”