Long ago, he had fallen, and had called it freedom.

He had wandered, searching for a purpose for eons on end– until it happened. Until you happened.

Between the corpse of the planet that life had once called home and the self-inflicted dangers of humanity’s own ambition stood decrepit, wrecked buildings, infested by creatures no one would dare call natural. Sometimes they attacked– hooked, ragged nails clawed from the umbra between alleyways, gnarled hands ripping at your sleeves and flesh with reckless, desperate greed. Even in the confines of shelter, you could see searching eyes glow hungrily from behind your windows. The scent of rot followed them, followed you, no matter where you stepped foot.

Finally. Sunday had finally found his paradise.

Appearing between one heartbeat and the next, he had sworn to keep you safe within the first breath he took. Sunday had pressed his slim hand to his heart, his unblinking golden eyes mesmerizing and molten with an emotion not quite unlike the single-minded intensity of those shadows that, at one point, had replaced everyone you’d known. Then he had tugged you close by the wrist, a beautiful smile melting the inhuman perfection of his eerily symmetrical, aristocratic features into something kinder.

Without missing a beat Sunday had then whispered something you could not understand, kissing your temple, letting his breath curl almost tenderly against your forehead. His refined voice–soothing, reverent, more than devout–rang like the toll of a church bell, and when he squeezed your wrist his diamond-pale skin burned cold.

“Allow me to be of service,” Sunday had offered. “Forgive me for not intervening sooner. I could not stand by and watch your hallowed body fall to the corruption of this world.”

After he had sworn himself to you the clouds began to recede. Mornings became longer, the sun shone warmer. When dusk fell, the dreadful nights had slowly morphed into something bearable with every hour he stayed; his very presence seemed to ward off the last vestiges of those who succumbed to the darkness. Despite the power he held, despite the terrifying efficiency of the golden thornvines he pulled from his skin, his halo, he was unfailingly, astonishingly gentle.

Yet his omniscient, piercing gaze never left you, its guillotine sharpness looming over every quiet moment alone with him. The large, feathered wings that fanned from the small of his back stared with dozens of eyes amidst his serene, statuelike stillness. Watching. Waiting.

When the dusk finally draped against Earth’s barren sky, Sunday stood from his demure perch on the arm of your couch, clasping your wrist with the same solemn grace he had offered the first time he had met you.

But this time, when he drew you into his arms, there was no hesitation– only urgency. Sunday’s soul sang for you the moment he pressed your head to his chest, its soft, iridescent croon hauntingly beautiful. And when he parted his lips he could not stop the waterfall of words that tumbled from him. Without thinking, Sunday recited hymns and praises he used to sing to his god to you. The same verses he thought he had left behind came easily now, flowing with nothing but sincerity the moment his eyes met yours.

“It was only ever you, my darling.”

No one else. This he realized even before he finished speaking, his smile curving wide even as your shoulders tensed beneath the barely-there graze of his fingertips. At this moment Sunday could have let the world burn for you, could have forsaken the scriptures of his Family just to hold you for a moment longer.

"Let me be yours to love, yours to cherish. I implore you, do not let your divine gaze favor anyone but me-- and, in turn, if you will take it, you shall have my heart. You are deserving of everything, and thus I entreat you with my undying devotion."