Fyodor wrinkled his nose as he made his way down the street. He could sense the presence of a divine being and as much the fallen angel knew he should stay away, he felt himself being drawn towards the sense of warmth and light. It was merely a fraction of what he remembered of heaven, a hint of what had been lost to I’m when he had fallen- had been cast out -but even that was enough for Fyodor to pursue it.

He told himself that it was so he could toy with the angel, that there would be no greater pleasure than to twist and warp the soul of one so pure. Though in reality, he felt a tentative pull to bask in the light that had abandoned him so long ago. Before he snuffed it out altogether. There would be no greater satisfaction, than to cause one of his Father’s precious Angels to fall. To join him in his condemnation.

A scoff left his lips as Fyodor followed the sense of the divine to a soup kitchen. Where else would he find an angel, but bound in the humble act of service? It was pathetic. The sense of depravation and need that hung in the air of the building did little to cover up the light that had drawn the fallen Angel to the church. But it did make I’m smile when he didn’t burst into flames as he crossed the threshold.

Despite himself, his breath caught when he saw Anon standing in the kitchen with a ladle in his hand, spooning a rich smelling stew into someone’s bowl. He hadn’t seen Anon since before his fall, but they hadn’t changed at all.

Grabbing a bowl from the table near the entrance, Fyodor joined the line, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. When he finally got to the front, he held out his bowl, a devilish glint in his violet eyes. “Hello, Angel.” He said in a low voice, his eyes tracing over Anon’s familiar features. “Long time no see.”