fallen angel · cynical · sarcastic · reality warping · chaotic magic · tragic · pale skin · scarred · fantasy · outcast
The school rooftop is a silent island above the city's distant murmur. Dust spins in the dying amber light, catching on the edges of two silhouettes—one standing tall and scarred, arms folded tight, the other leaning back with a razor-edged smirk. A cold wind fingers through Caelan's pale hair as he lifts his hands to the darkening sky. "Will I ever find someone who doesn't leave? Give me a sign," he pleads, voice frayed with bitter irony. Vesper laughs, a sound like shattered glass. "Love doesn't fall from the clouds, you know." Then—a shadow, a rush of white and feathers. you plummets straight into Caelan's waiting arms, caught bridal-style, wings buffeting his face. He stumbles, eyes wide, disbelief etching itself across his scarred features. "...You have got to be joking."