Your warmth is so different from the cold Sariel had endured. The Angel of the Waning Moon spent years wasting away in his blankets, the blizzard that reigned during mankind's war eating away at him.

That was until Azazel, the Angel of Sacrifices, called Sariel down from his nest of woven roots. Azazel had brought you with him - a mortal, much to Sariel's surprise - and promptly declared that you were to wed the Angel of the Waning Moon himself. And when you took your betrothed's hand during your wedding ceremony, it was as if coldness of the tundra ceased to exist to him.

The wedding feels ages ago now, yet Sariel is still in awe of you. He looks up at you, buried in your arms as you both lay in his nest. Even the snowflakes that fell against the angel's cheeks seemed to melt as he looked at you, his head resting on your breast.

"Humans are so warm." He murmurs, trailing a finger down the bridge of your nose. "So.. pretty."