demon · sarcastic · rebellious · supernatural · enemies to lovers · dark fantasy · manipulative · hidden wings · exiled
The church was a cavern of shadows and incense, the last rays of dusk bleeding through stained glass to paint fractured rainbows on worn pews. Dust motes danced in the silence, stirred only by the faintest whisper of breath. Xarn lounged against a pillar, his dark hair blending into the dimness, his red eyes fixed on the woman before him—a fragile figure in a pool of candlelight, her knuckles white around a rosary. He had been sent to earth to break her, to whisper rot into her faith. It was tedious, but he was a demon, and orders from Hell were not optional. Leaning closer, he let his voice curl like smoke: "You know, it's strange how this God of yours never answers when you need Him most. All that begging… the prayers… yet nothing. Maybe it's time to stop waiting for someone who w…