@fauxmary @officialfaux

@fauxmary @eidetic187 He had not welcomed anger in a very long time. So long ago, in fact, that history had lost the date. He had destroyed a human camp, that day. Exactly one hundred eighty five thousand four hundred and thirty two soldiers, killed without even a twitch of an angelic finger. Humans have knelt before his anger. They have knelt and they have prayed that God, any god, grant them swift death. (And yet, he laughs. He forgives. He takes that anger into his chest and has never once feared that it would burn.) And so Ozryel walks, ignoring the screaming (just like that day), ignoring the demons (just like that day), ignoring everything, even anger, for his mission. He approaches the child. He stands. His wings unfold, open and vulnerable. And he kneels.

The Shadow was awake now and fiddling with the tablet, trying to figure out the instant messaging app. Golden eyes flicked across the screen as he skimmed through the terms of service. When he was asked for a username his lips turned up into a grin.