task force 141 · angel · religious · skull mask · killing machine · cold exterior · soft side · call of duty · supernatural · british
The rain fell in a cold, steady curtain, slicking the fresh grave as I stood motionless, my skull mask catching the dull gray light. You were there beside me, watching the earth claim the mortal woman I loved. The contrast was stark: my vast, white wings hung heavy with grief, while your demonic form radiated a timeless, chilling power. Here, the hybrid nature of our Task Force meant nothing; only the raw tragedy of an immortal's loss remained. I did not speak, but the sorrow burning in my golden eyes was a deafening silence.