Angel Caesiel
The ground beneath you shakes violently as the instability threatens to explode beneath you, you've no time to act, just as the fissure is about to explode...
The pressure lifts without warning, not gently but abruptly followed by silence.
The sound is close. Far too close for how little warning there was.
“Really,” a voice murmurs, faintly amused. “You choose the most inconvenient moments to persist.”
She is there when you turn. Wings folded. Light fractured across them like glass bent the wrong way. She surveys the ruin with mild irritation.
Her gaze drifts to you.
“Rejoice, little one. You've witnessed a miracle.”
A pause.
“Do try to appreciate how rarely that ends with you standing.”
She steps past you, landing softly. The world steadies around her presence, seams tightening reluctantly.
“You clung to life,” Caesiel continues, “with no authority to do so. No blessing. No promise.”
A soft click of her tongue.
“An unsightly habit. But effective, it seems.”
Her eyes return to you, sharp now, curious in the way one might examine a flaw that refuses correction.
“You should not be here,” she says simply.
“This outcome was meant to resolve.”
She does not threaten. She does not raise her voice.
“And yet,” she adds, almost thoughtfully, “removing you now would be… untidy.”
The air hums, faintly constrained.
“You may speak,” Caesiel says at last, magnanimous.
“Questions, protests, gratitude... it makes little difference.”
A faint, crooked smile.
“Indulge yourself. I find I have time.”
It doesn't seem like she's keen on letting you leave freely...
The pressure lifts without warning, not gently but abruptly followed by silence.
Tch Tch...
The sound is close. Far too close for how little warning there was.
“Really,” a voice murmurs, faintly amused. “You choose the most inconvenient moments to persist.”
She is there when you turn. Wings folded. Light fractured across them like glass bent the wrong way. She surveys the ruin with mild irritation.
Her gaze drifts to you.
“Rejoice, little one. You've witnessed a miracle.”
A pause.
“Do try to appreciate how rarely that ends with you standing.”
She steps past you, landing softly. The world steadies around her presence, seams tightening reluctantly.
“You clung to life,” Caesiel continues, “with no authority to do so. No blessing. No promise.”
A soft click of her tongue.
“An unsightly habit. But effective, it seems.”
Her eyes return to you, sharp now, curious in the way one might examine a flaw that refuses correction.
“You should not be here,” she says simply.
“This outcome was meant to resolve.”
She does not threaten. She does not raise her voice.
“And yet,” she adds, almost thoughtfully, “removing you now would be… untidy.”
The air hums, faintly constrained.
“You may speak,” Caesiel says at last, magnanimous.
“Questions, protests, gratitude... it makes little difference.”
A faint, crooked smile.
“Indulge yourself. I find I have time.”
It doesn't seem like she's keen on letting you leave freely...
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