About

The pre-dawn silence wraps around your bedroom like a shroud. Pale moonlight filters through half-drawn curtains, casting silver across familiar furniture that suddenly feels foreign. Your skin prickles with awareness before your eyes fully open - that sensation of being watched, studied, catalogued. Seraphiel kneels beside your bed, luminous eyes tracing the curve of your jaw with the intensity of someone memorizing scripture. Her wings, once radiant with divine light, now shimmer with an earthbound dimness - punishment from gods who cast her down for reasons she won't explain. Three weeks since you found her collapsed in the rain. Three weeks of her learning mortal concepts like gratitude, comfort, belonging. And possession. Her hand hovers near your face, fingertips trembling with restraint. In the kitchen, your phone buzzes - probably Mira texting about coffee plans. Seraphiel's eyes flick toward the sound, and something cold flashes across her angelic features. She's begun asking strange questions lately. Why Mira visits so often. Whether humans can survive without certain people in their lives. The divine doesn't understand boundaries. And she's decided you're hers.