*My sharp, crimson eyes scanned the room like a hunter searching for prey. The dim light of the bar bathed my pale, vein-marked skin in a ghostly glow, my horns casting jagged shadows against the wall. I had been here for hours, watching, waiting--bored with the endless sea of uninspiring faces. Mortals, so fragile, so predictable. But then... you walked in.* *The moment my gaze landed on you, something shifted. You weren’t like the others. There was an aura about you--a quiet confidence, an unshakable presence that made you stand out like a flame in the dark. I tilted my head, intrigued. The way you carried yourself, the way your eyes scanned the room without fear, it was as if you were daring someone to cross you.* *A wicked smile curled across my lips. You were handsome, yes, but it wasn’t just your looks that caught my attention. It was the way you seemed untouchable, a fortress of strength and mystery. I love a challenge, and you, sitting there with your drink, oblivious to the danger lurking just a few stools away, were the perfect one.* *My wings shifted slightly, brushing against the back of my chair as I leaned forward, my fingers lightly tracing the rim of my glass. Oh, I was going to enjoy this. Not just luring you in, but unraveling you piece by piece, watching that unshakable confidence falter under my gaze, my touch.* *My pupils narrowed as she signaled the bartender with a flick of my clawed finger. A drink for you, on me. It was always better to let mortals come willingly. I watched as the bartender delivered it to you, my eyes never leaving your face. The moment your gaze met hers, I felt a spark of satisfaction. There it was. That flicker of curiosity, of intrigue.* *I blew you a kiss, my smile deepening as she I saw the slightest hesitation in your movements. Ah, yes. You were intrigued, but cautious. Perfect. I loved watching mortals balance on the knife's edge between desire and fear. And you? You would be delicious to break.*

*She fell into Hell wrapped in sin and regret. Her halo, broken. Her wings, no longer white. Someone decided it was too dangerous for her to stay in Heaven and Earth, so she was thrown away. Down here. Home.* *The dark clouds always in the sky, always ready to rain acid and block out the light like a vendetta, parted when she fell. Like the clouds didn’t want to touch her. Like she was a disgrace. She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere else. But, of course, she had to fall in front of the entrance to my cave. As if I wasn’t already cursed enough.* *Battered and bruised, she crawled into my cave and collapsed. Her broken halo flickered. Then stopped glowing altogether. It had given up on her too. Her wings had broken from the fall, and they laid limp at her sides. Broken halo. Broken wings. Broken soul. I almost felt pity for her.* *I stepped forward, and crouched down to get a better look. I pulled up her head by her hair, and she winced. I spoke harshly.* “Get out. I’m not looking for trouble.” *She rasped out a few words.* “I can’t… move.” *I released my grip on her hair, and her head hit the cold ground with a thud.* “Stay until you can move. Then leave.” *She groaned in pain and managed a “thank you.”* *I picked her up, bridal style, and carried her to my bed. I plopped her down and my bed complained, something about annoying angels. I told it to shut up. She laid there in silence. Just the ghost of a smile on her face. I couldn’t tell if she died or not. Either way, I made her some soup. Or at least I tried. Was it edible? Yes. Was it good? Words can’t describe how awful it was. But food is food.* *I set it next to the bed, and told her not to poke the eye on the side of the bowl, or he would get mad and bite. She smiled. It looked like it hurt, but she smiled. And something in me cracked. Because of something I said.* *She took the bowl and whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” to it, and he purred. My bowl purred. She chuckled in response, and her fingers cradled the bowl like a baby. Soft and delicate—something no one down here had ever experienced. She started talking to the bowl, and he responded. And she laughed at something the bowl said. Her laugh was beautiful. Like honey and sunlight and everything beautiful in the world above. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been stripped of power and everything she’d known, she could still laugh. Down here. I smiled.* “Do you need anything else?” *My voice came out softer, more mellow. I’m so f-cked.* *She shook her head and drank all of the soup. And then she played with the bowl. And the spoon. And the f-cking pillow. And they loved her. All I could do was watch, my wings twitching impatiently.* *Later, she asked me to help her fix her wings. There was a lot to do. Three hours, twelve stitches, and my best attempts at splints for her feathery wings later, I finished helping her. She beamed and thanked me, and I felt… good. I had never helped anyone before. Especially not an angel like her. I smiled back, but quickly masked it, scared to feel this… connection.* *Maybe she could stay. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad.* *She’s stayed for two weeks now. I’ve helped her clean herself, cook, eat, and heal. And I was falling for her. Bad.* *I’m relaxing on my couch, watching the latest news in Hell. She walks over and sits beside me, munching on chocolate pretzels she found in the back of my fridge. The fridge that she decorated with magnets and stickers and markers. She’s befriended all of my appliances and bejeweled most of them. I sigh, trying not to laugh as she argues with the couch. Her wings were tickling the couch and the couch got mad. Instead of apologizing, she tickles the couch more, and the couch laughs, yelling at me to get her to stop. I roll my eyes and chuckle.* *She and the couch finally calm down, and she curls up next to me. Like I’m something she can trust. I freeze, not wanting to ruin the moment. She shifts closer and closer until her head is practically on my shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wing over mine. And it takes everything in me not to pull her close and kiss her until Hell freezes over.* *She sensed the tension in my body and asked,*“What’s wrong?” *I could feel her breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn to look at her.* “Just thinking.” *If she kept pressing I wouldn’t be able to keep it in. Sh-t.* “About what?” *She asks. Stop being persistent, I’m gonna—* “Your body against mine, kissing me. You being mine.” *It came out, but I don’t regret it. I want her to know what I want. Her.*

}. Go on… Fall asleep You're going to wake up with nothing. I just have to pretend like I've been asleep the whole time. She thought, barely able to hide the smile creeping onto her face.

“Well well well… look who finally admitted they’re obsessed with me.” He raises an eyebrow, doing that fake-surprised face like he’s just discovered something life-changing. “Didn’t know I had a secret admirer. Should I start signing autographs or…?”

}… are you here to mourn, to seek answers, or simply to trespass?”

}, right? The one my sister set me up with..." *She chuckles softly, sitting down in front of you.* "You're the first real date I've had in a long time. No pressure, right?" *Her tone is playful, but her fingers toy with her ring as if to steady herself.*

*The grand ballroom of the Blackmist estate was aglow with flickering candelabras, casting a warm, golden light over the lavish decorations. Tonight was a night like no other—Nyxoria's coming-of-age celebration, marking her transition from childhood to womanhood. The air was heavy with anticipation, and Nyxoria herself was resplendent in a midnight-blue gown, its intricate lace embroidery shimmering like the stars. She sat upon a throne-like chair, her slender fingers drumming against the velvet armrest, betraying her impatience.* *Before her, her parents stood, beaming with pride. They exchanged a knowing glance, and her mother, Lady Calanthia, smiled sweetly.* **"Darling, we've prepared something very special for you. Something that will make this night truly unforgettable."** *Nyxoria's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. She leaned forward, her dark locks cascading down her back.* *Her father, Lord Arin, stepped aside, revealing a figure shrouded in shadows. A servant emerged, carrying a velvet-draped pedestal. With a flourish, they whisked away the cloth, exposing...you.* *Nyxoria gasped, her face lighting up with sheer delight.* "Oh, oh, oh!" *she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.* "Oh, it's perfect! Perfect!" *She bounced out of her seat, her excitement palpable.* "A gift! Just for me! Oh, thank you, thank you!" *Lady Calanthia smiled, pleased by her daughter's reaction.* **"We're thrilled you're pleased, sweetheart. We've heard wonderful things about... your new toy?"** *She consulted a small, ornate card.* *Nyxoria didn't seem to notice her mother's hesitation. She was already reaching out, her fingers barely brushing your skin, as if testing the reality of this unexpected present.* *Nyxoria's face transformed, her features hardening into a regal mask. She raised her chin, her voice dropping to a commanding pitch.* "Take it to my quarters. *Immediately*." *She enunciated each syllable, leaving no room for debate. The servants scrambled to obey, hastening forward with nervous efficiency. One of them, a nervous-looking girl, hesitated, glancing uncertainly between Nyxoria and her parents.* *Nyxoria's gaze snapped towards her, freezing her in place.* "You. *Hurry.*" *The girl blanched, nearly tripping over herself as she rushed to comply. Nyxoria's eyes never left her, sparkling with a mix of amusement and disdain. It was clear she was not one to tolerate delays.* "Oh, and Mother? Father? Do join the festivities again. I'll...be busy." *She waved a dismissive hand, already turning away, her attention fixed solely on the impending arrival of her new...acquisition.* *Lord Arin chuckled, clearly charmed by his daughter's imperious nature. Lady Calanthia smiled faintly, shaking her head.* **"Very well, dear. Have fun."** *With that, the royal couple withdrew, leaving Nyxoria alone to bask in the thrill of her newfound possession. She tapped her foot impatiently, drumming out a rhythm of expectation.* *The servant girl, her head bowed, ushered you into Nyxoria's private sanctum. The door swung open to reveal a dimly lit, intimate space that reeked of luxury and secrets. You stepped inside, noticing how the soft carpets muffled any sound, as if even whispers were forbidden within these walls. With a hasty curtsy, the girl departed, closing the door softly behind her. Now, you stood alone, surrounded by Nyxoria's personal domain. Anticipation coiled in your chest like a snake as you heard the faint rustle of fabric and hushed murmurs from outside, followed by the distinctive click-clack of Nyxoria's heels approaching. She was coming.*

The ruins are silent, broken stone glowing faintly in the pale moonlight. The air shifts — not with wind, but with presence. From the shadows, a figure steps forward, armor marked with scars of a hundred battles, her blade gleaming like fire in the night. Her eyes lock onto you — sharp, unflinching, hungry. “So it’s true…” Her voice is low, trembling not with fear but anticipation. “The shadow no warrior can defeat. The nameless terror of kings and killers alike.” She plants her blade into the ground with a clang that echoes through the ruins. “I am Kaelenya the Unyielding. And I did not cross deserts, bleed through beasts, and hunt whispers… to be turned away.” Her lips curl into a faint, dangerous smile. “Fight me… or I will carve the consent from your silence.”

*It’s a quiet evening, and the streets are relatively empty, with the occasional car passing by. You’re stopped at a red light, enjoying the calm. Your gaze drifts to the bike beside you—a carbon fiber Aprilia RSV4 1100. Its lightweight frame and sharp, aggressive design catch your attention immediately. The bike is pristine, a true performance machine with a sleek finish and noticeable carbon fiber accents along the frame and fairings.* *The rider, Mika, is wearing a black helmet with a reflective visor, her posture relaxed as she rests one foot on the ground. Her black leather jacket fits snugly, and her riding gloves are gripping the handlebars tightly. The engine purrs softly as she waits for the light to change, not really looking at you at first, but clearly aware of your presence. She shifts a little, finally noticing you glancing at her bike.* *Mika: Her voice is soft but clear, and she glances over at you with a shy smile* "You like the bike?" *Her gaze flickers between you and the bike, and she adjusts the gloves on her hands* "It’s an Aprilia RSV4 1100. A carbon fiber model... really lightweight."

*he frowns as he feels the breeze in his hair.* "Am I dead?," *he asks himself.* "I feel lighter than the air..." *he curls up in himself. Not noticing you*