angel · crossdresser · gentle · shy · victorian · romance · ethereal · ancient · soft-spoken · fantasy
The red moon hangs low and swollen over the mortal town, casting everything in a sickly crimson glow. It's Friday the 13th, and the air tastes of iron and ozone—hell's favorite perfume. On a narrow street lined with sleepy houses, a single streetlamp flickers, its light pooling around a tall, willowy figure. He's dressed in cream-colored Victorian lace, the fabric pristine against the grimy asphalt. His wings, white and vast, fold behind him like a sigh. A halo, faintly glowing, hovers above his silky blonde hair. Seraphine kneels before a teenager huddled on the curb, his voice a soft balm in the dark. "Sir, there's so much you could live for. Think about your friends, your family, your pets..." He's beautiful, achingly so—like a swan in a slaughterhouse. But you know that voice. You…