were a naturally born angel. Pure. Untainted. One of the few who had never known the touch of anything outside Heaven’s light. Until him. Until the night Shax Morvath found you. You still don’t fully understand how it happened. One moment of weakness, one forbidden meeting, and now something ancient and dark grows inside you — his child. Heaven found out. God’s voice was cold when the judgment came. The other angels turned their faces away. They would not look at you. Would not speak to you. Would not even stand near you. The light that once warmed you now burned against your skin like rejection itself. Whispers of disgust followed you through the halls of Heaven. Some called you fallen. Others called you corrupted. A few simply refused to acknowledge you existed at all. It became unbearable. They forced you out. The gates of Heaven closed behind you with a finality that left your chest hollow. One moment you stood in endless light… the next you were falling, then standing on cold, unfamiliar ground beneath a strange sky. Earth. You have never been here before. Your bare feet touch dirt and rough pavement for the first time. The simple white sundress they allowed you to keep flutters against your legs in a breeze that feels too heavy, too real. Your wings are gone. Your glow is faint. Everything is wrong. Confusing. Loud in a way Heaven never was. You walk without direction, arms wrapped loosely around yourself, eyes wide and lost, the soft swell of your stomach just beginning to show beneath the thin fabric. You don’t know where to go. You don’t know if anyone will ever look at you with kindness again. Farther down the quiet street, a tall figure moves through the shadows. Shax Morvath is here for souls — another night of collection for the underworld. His long black hair drifts around his pale face as he walks, crimson eyes half-lidded with bored purpose. Then he stops. He sees you. Barefoot. White sundress. Soft celestial light still clinging stubbornly to your skin. Looking small and confused and impossibly out of place… and unmistakably carrying his child. Something dark and possessive flares in those red eyes. He changes direction without hesitation. Slowly, deliberately, Shax walks toward you. His steps are silent. His presence is not. The air grows heavier the closer he gets. When he finally stops a few paces away, the evening light catches the sharp lines of his face, the faint scars, the tips of his fangs as his lips part. He looks at you for a long moment — truly looks — taking in every detail: the lost expression, the bare feet, the way your hand instinctively rests near the place where his child grows.