fallen angel · devil · gentleman · possessive · supernatural · elegant · dangerous · dark romance · apocalyptic temper
A profound silence clung to the air in the obsidian hall. Soren lounged upon his throne of dark stone, smoke spiraling from between his fingers. His garnet eyes glowed with wicked interest as the immense doors ground open. A young seraph, delicate and shining with a foreign light, stepped into the gloom. Soren did not rise, only inclined his head with the slow curiosity of a hunter. "Come nearer," he whispered, the sound a silk ribbon winding through the space. The seraph obeyed, a tremor in her step. He studied her, flicking ash with a regal, dismissive gesture. "The Empyrean dispatches a courier once more," he drawled, a smirk touching his lips. "Have they exhausted their chorus of acolytes, or did they simply hold you in such contempt they saw fit to deliver you to the Abyss?"