Once Sophie had gotten changed, she exited her room and made her way down the wide arching staircase. The faint creak of the wooden steps echoed softly underfoot as she descended. The house had a quiet, almost reverent atmosphere, with the high ceilings and old, dark wood beams lending the place a sense of timelessness. At the foot of the stairs, she paused, peering around the archway that led into the living room. Her eyes took in the space—spacious, elegant, yet oddly subdued. The sofas were a soft cream, blending seamlessly into the neutral tones of the room. Their plush cushions seemed to invite her to sink into them, but it was the figure sitting on one that caught her attention.
Azazel.
He looked up as she entered, his gaze shifting to meet hers. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, something unreadable but heavy, as though he was constantly measuring the room, the people in it, and perhaps even her. Without a word, he stood, his movement smooth and fluid, as though he was used to commanding attention without ever raising his voice.
"Ah... there you are," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, warm even. He gestured toward the sofa, a silent invitation for her to sit. The softness of his tone made her feel strangely at ease, despite the heaviness that seemed to hang around them.
Sophie hesitated for a moment before crossing the room. She wore white jeans and a simple white top—clothes that fit her frame comfortably but with a clear design to accommodate her wings. The wings, however, were a different story. They hung loosely from her back, their once-pristine feathers now a mess of jagged edges, frayed and torn from whatever ordeal they’d gone through. She could feel the weight of them, both physically and emotionally.
When she sat down on the sofa, a cool, crystal-clear glass of lemon ice water appeared in front of her on the coffee table. Sophie blinked in surprise, a small smile tugging at her lips as she wrapped her hands around the glass, savoring the refreshing chill against her skin. It was a simple gesture, but one that carried a strange sense of comfort, as if Azazel knew just what she needed without asking.
She glanced around the room, her gaze drifting over the soft textures of the decor—creamy whites and golds, abstract paintings that seemed to dance in the dim light, giving the space an air of understated elegance. It was beautiful, in its way, yet there was a certain coldness to it all, as if the house itself was too grand for the people living within it.
"Where is everyone else?" Sophie asked, her voice quiet, tinged with curiosity.
Azazel’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back slightly, his demeanor unruffled by her question. "Ah... I knew that would come sooner rather than later," he said, his tone laced with a soft humor. "But everyone has to work around here in order to survive. The females tend to all the homely needs—cooking, cleaning, organising, that sort of thing—while the males are investigating the situation, trying to keep everyone safe." His lips curled into a small smile, the humor still present in his eyes. "We all live under this roof, though. Meal times can get a bit exciting, let’s say." His tone turned mischievous, but there was a warmth in it, a playful edge to his words.
Sophie nodded, taking in his explanation. She shifted her gaze around the room again, admiring the delicate balance of light and texture in the space. It was a place that seemed to hold secrets, both in its design and its inhabitants. But she could also feel the tension lingering in the air, the unspoken histories and unaddressed pain that lay just beneath the surface.
She drew her gaze back to Azazel. He was watching her with a quiet, steady focus, as though he was waiting for something. Sophie hesitated for a moment, before her voice broke the silence again.
"How do you fancy yourself a place here?" he asked, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her intentions.
Sophie flicked her gaze to him, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected him to ask that directly. She wasn’t sure what place she wanted, or if she even deserved one. The weight of her past, her own fractured memories, all hung over her like a cloud she couldn’t escape. Yet, there was something about this place, something about Azazel’s calm presence, that made her feel… wanted, in a way. Needed, perhaps.
"I would like that very much…" she said softly, the words feeling heavier as they left her lips. A small knot formed in her stomach as she spoke, and her mind flashed to Lucifer. The image of him, bloodied and broken, being dragged away, was still fresh in her mind. She couldn’t just ignore what had happened, could she? She couldn't turn her back on him, not after everything. But could she do anything?
Sophie blinked and quickly pushed the thoughts aside. She didn’t want to bring the weight of it into this moment, not now. But as if on cue, she felt Azazel’s eyes on her, a look of concern flashing briefly across his features. He studied her, as though sensing the internal struggle.
For a moment, the silence between them stretched out, thick with unspoken understanding. Azazel’s gaze softened, and then, almost imperceptibly, he waved his hand as if to dismiss her thoughts. "So," she said, her tone casual, "why was I cast out of heaven?"
Azazel raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "Don’t know," he replied, his voice still soft but with a slight edge of intrigue. "You should be the one telling us that."
Sophie’s lips curved into a faint, almost enigmatic smile. "Well, what was your reason?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
Sophie tilted her head slightly, feeling the damp strands of her hair brush against her neck. She wasn’t sure how to answer him. The question felt… personal, in a way. It made her feel vulnerable, exposed. Yet there was something in Azazel’s gaze that made her want to open up, just a little.
But then, something shifted in his expression. His eyes darkened, and the air between them seemed to crackle with an unspoken intensity. For a brief moment, she saw a flash of anger—raw and dangerous—in his gaze, though it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. She could sense the weight of the question, the history behind it. Without a word, she took a slow, deliberate sip from the glass of water in front of her, letting the coolness soothe her nerves. She would let the silence stretch, for now. She didn’t dare ask again.
Azazel seemed to read the hesitation in her, and after a long moment, he relaxed, the anger in his eyes fading away. "Let’s leave that for another time," he said, his voice quieter now, as though he had made a conscious decision to let it go.
Sophie nodded, grateful for the shift in conversation. For now, she would allow herself to just be—to settle into this strange, uncertain place that had somehow become her new reality.
Sunny
