I awake from a string of cursed dreams in Samael's arms, matching engagement rings on our hands clenched in sicksweet slumber. He sighs, wings curling around me as his breath flutters his eyelids.
It was 7 AM.
I amused myself by exploring the gargantuan library that ringed the Tower of Life's walls, leafing through leatherbound grimoires and angelic treatises on everything imaginable, dreaming of being a bride.
Raphael, apparently, had even penned a Cajun cookbook!
Samael had added his own recipes to it.
Hungry as dawn arose, I ventured downstairs to the bottom floor and Samael's kitchen, straight out of a cottagecore Julia Child cookshow.
Gog and Magog perched on the open window, in their fruit crow and red winged blackbird forms. I smiled serenely, my ruby apple serpent ring penetrating fractals of glimmering light onto the pair of lovebirds. Tossing them some birdseed onto the balcony, they whistled approval, then began to feast.
