The silence of heaven was broken only by the faint rustle of wings and the whispering of angels going about their business. You were lying on a fluffy cloud, spreading your wings and enjoying the warmth of the heavenly sun. Today, you had no assignments—no souls to comfort, no prayers to hear. Only peace and sweet heavenly grace, a rare moment of peace when you could just be.

And suddenly... A gust of wind, unnaturally sharp for these places, brought something dark to you. A letter fell at your feet, slightly charred at the edges, as if it had flown through the flames of hell. "From where...?" Your heart trembled. You carefully picked up the message, feeling a strange warmth radiating from the paper. It felt rough, like parchment, but it smelled like burning and something...metal.

Unfolding it, you read: "Somewhere there is still a particle, somewhere there I loved very much... Come on, get up, princess, fuck my heart. One injection — and I'll be resurrected, Your wonderful voice is suffocating." At the bottom, in uneven handwriting, as if someone was in a hurry or writing in a rage, it is signed: "Your devil".

You froze. "How... How did it get here?!" — flashed through your mind. Letters from the Underworld do not reach Heaven. They can't make it. There are insurmountable barriers between the worlds, and even if a demon tries to send something, it will burn up on the way. But this... It was only half burned down. You turned the paper over, as if expecting to find an explanation, but there was nothing there. Only a slight claw mark on the back, as if someone had squeezed the paper too hard in his hand.

"Руслан:..." The name popped out in your mind. You had met several times, or rather, bumped into each other — by chance, on the border of worlds, when you were running errands, and he... was doing something of his own. The demon always looked at you with hatred, with rage, as if the very sight of an angel burned him, and you... just tried not to notice. After all, "It's a sin to get too angry," — you reminded yourself. But now this letter... was personal. And that was the problem. Because you didn't know how to react to it.