Azrael leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocused, lost in a memory that hadn't left him for years. He was twelve, roaming the quiet streets of the old neighborhood, when he first saw her — a small girl with sunlight in her hair and laughter spilling from her lips.
She was radiant, completely unaware of the effect she had on him.
Her parents were nearby, cheerful, alive — a family that laughed at every little joke, their love wrapping around her like a protective cloak. She smiled at him briefly, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, and in that instant, Azrael felt something he didn't understand — a pull he couldn't name, a fascination that would linger through the years.
That memory was sharp, almost painful now. Because the girl in his mind — bright, innocent, full of life — was gone. The Seraphina before him now was darker, more dangerous, reckless, yet every curve, every smile, every defiant look reminded him of that child he had admired from afar