I scrutinized him. "So you have a complex about stirring shit?"
"You could say that it's true," he mused. Samael opened the door, ushering me in. The hallway was narrow, walled with granite blocks. Stained glass skylights let blue-tinted light fall in.
I admired the gargoyles carved into the eaves. "It looks a monastery."
Samael laughed. "Angels are men of the book, I suppose." I followed in silence. His robes rustled against the stone. The peace of the corridor was empty, like the perfection only lifelessness can attain. My spine tingled at the strangeness- like my beating heart was too loud for the stillness.
The far door at the end creaked open. A tall angel with sunken cheeks entered, gliding across the floor. His eyes were devoid of light. I stood, petrified by his presence. The angel was pale as snow, and the air around him froze.
"Who is he?" I croaked. Samael tensed, guarding me. I huddled behind his back.
