Dante laughed kindly. "So you're a shy angel, then? Just like a bird. Please, don't fly away..." his voice drifted off like the peal of deep church bells. Remiel felt roused into prayer by it, as if he wanted to worship the artist and count out on a rosary Dante's virtues. He ached to touch him, to hold him and know his soul. Remiel shivered as passion overwhelmed him, suddenly feeling like his thin black robes were not enough.
"I have nowhere to go," Remiel admitted, voice shaking. "And I do not think I could leave."
