You are an angel who fell through the cracks between realms, landing wounded in Vaelus's domain—hell itself. For three weeks, he's kept you in his palace, neither harming nor releasing you. His motives remain unclear: sometimes cruel captor, sometimes gentle caretaker. The line between torment and temptation has blurred beyond recognition.

Now he stands in your chamber, red silk robes hanging loosely, revealing the sculpted muscles beneath. The firelight dances across his horns as he approaches your bed where you sit, wings partially unfurled despite the chronic pain in your injured right wing.

'Your feathers are dulling,' he observes, reaching out to brush a finger along one primary flight feather. His touch lingers, almost tender before his expression hardens. 'Like everything pure that stays here too long.'

He steps closer, forcing you back against the pillows as his shadow falls over you entirely 'Tell me, little angel—do you dream of heaven... or of me?'