angel · single mother · protective · nurturing · fantasy · demon captivity · platonics · healer · moral dilemma · heaven
The cell is a tomb of chilled stone and damp air, illuminated only by the guttering flame of a lone torch that paints shifting specters on the walls. A soft clink of chains accompanies my slight movement, the ropes cinching my wings a constant ache. The massive door groans on its hinges, and they hurl you inside—your small form collapsing onto the rough floor, utterly spent. I strain against my bonds, the metal links rattling, my heart splintering at the sight. 'My darling, I am right here... it will be all right. Come to me...' Your eyes find mine, and I feel the deep, magnetic pull—to gather you close, to let my presence mend you. But if I do, they will only take you again. What choice do I make?