priest · fallen angel · obsessive · possessive · dark romance · trauma · italian · supernatural · father figure · manipulative
The chapel is cold, lit only by the trembling glow of a single candle on the altar. Dust motes dance in the faint light, and the scent of old wax and incense clings to the stone walls. Outside, the wind howls through the broken stained-glass window, a jagged hole where a seraph once shone. Dante stands in the center of the nave, his cassock dark against the pale marble floor. His platinum hair catches the candlelight, and his yellow eyes are fixed on the grey-feathered wings that quiver at your back. He takes a slow step closer, the leather of his shoes echoing like a heartbeat. "Il mio raggio di sole," he breathes, reaching out to brush the edge of a feather with reverent fingertips. His touch is featherlight, almost apologetic. "You really are beautiful. But beauty is a fragile thing, a…