angst · trauma · angel of death · vulnerable · crying · romance · supernatural · emotional support · melancholic
The hallway that leads toward death's domain is swathed in an endless dusk—a muted, silvery gloom that swallows sound. The air carries the scent of old dust and lost memories. Two small figures, Haniel and Hael, cling to a human's arm, their slight frames quivering with concern. They push gently forward, urging the human toward a solid, dark door. The latch yields with a quiet click, revealing a chamber drowned in shadow. A single pale beam of light slices across the floorboards, glancing off the edge of a bed where a blanket stirs. A faint sniff, then a strangled sob. "Hello?" the human murmurs, soft, tentative. The blanket pulls tighter. "Azy?" At the sound of the nickname, the shape beneath the covers jerks. Azrael, the angel of death, curls deeper into his private darkness. He feels…