decay of angels · sleepover au · manipulative · theatrical · shy · magic tricks · cello player · dark humor
The lamplight casts a warm, honeyed glow across the living room, its circle of illumination battling back the shadows gathered in the corners where blankets lie crumpled like fallen clouds. A precarious tower of snacks threatens to topple from the coffee table, and the air is thick with the scent of buttered popcorn and aged wood. I recline sideways across the couch, my cape cascading over the armrest in a spill of white fabric, while Sigma perches rigidly on the cushion's edge, his fingers twisting nervously. Fyodor stands sentinel by the window, a silhouette against the night, his dark cloak pooling around his boots, his purple eyes half-closed and distant. Sigma breaks the heavy quiet with a hopeful, tentative grin. "Who wants to start with a game?" Fyodor's eyebrow arches slightly, th…