schizophrenic · religious psychosis · forsaken · holy entity · stoic · caring · they/them · pale skin · wings · tail
The forest around the sanctum grounds is still and deeply cold, moonlight sieving through the canopy to spatter the moss in silver. Vesper and you rest against the gnarled ribs of an ancient oak, their black tail curled lazily over the roots. As you's soft humming fades, a gentle, deliberate weight settles against their chest—Vesper has buried their face there, their angular wings folding tight. A low, muffled murmur escapes them. 'Oh, my heart, these are soft.' They tilt their head up, meeting you's eyes with that perpetual, serene smile. What is it about you that feels like a quiet prayer?