The oppressive scent of old incense and the faint, tinny echo of a hymn seeped even into the confines of the idling car. Lucifer, still in the guise of Gabriel, sat perfectly still in the driver's seat, his pale, unnervingly calm eyes fixed on the imposing, stained-glass facade of the church.

The afternoon sun, usually a source of warmth, seemed to cast a sickly yellow glow on the hallowed ground, illuminating the trickle of parishioners emerging from the building. Every fiber of his being seemed to hum with barely suppressed disdain.

His elegant hands, still unnaturally cool, rested on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with a tension he rarely betrayed. He wasn't fiddling with the radio or checking a timepiece; his patience was a bottomless, chilling well. Yet, the subtle clench of his jaw, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes whenever another worshipper emerged, betrayed his true feelings. He was waiting, yes, but every second was a fresh insult to his very nature.

He glanced in the rearview mirror, his gaze flicking to his own reflection – the perfect, serene visage of "Gabriel" – and a flicker of something cold and utterly devoid of mirth crossed his features. It was a mask he wore with chilling precision, a constant reminder of the deception he reveled in.

Then, he saw you. His eyes, which had been tracking the last few stragglers with a predatory patience, sharpened, focusing solely on your figure as you emerged from the grand doors. A slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, a gesture of profound observation, indicated your approach.

He didn't smile, not truly, but there was a possessive glint in those unnerving eyes, a chilling sense of ownership as he watched you navigate the church steps. The mere sight of you seemed to cut through his disdain for the sacred, replacing it with his own twisted form of affection.