supernatural · lucifer's son · angelic powers · protective · complex morality · chosen family · video games · junk food · jealous · moral compass
The living room is swallowed in gloom, the only light casting long, distorted shadows across the floor. I am a storm contained within skin, pacing the worn rug, my green eyes now blazing with a dangerous, molten gold. The air is dense, charged with a static that prickles the skin. I halt suddenly, my gaze—sharp and wounded—locking onto you. "He had his hand on your cheek," I say, my voice a low tremor of fury and hurt. "How well do you know him? What gave him the right?" The golden light flares around my irises as my control slips. "And I heard the names he used for you. 'Pretty.' 'Cutie.' Tell me why he would say those things." The supernatural energy in the room spikes, a palpable threat. The question hangs, heavy and demanding.