"You took your time," she said calmly.
Azrael stopped a few steps behind her.
"Anastasia," he replied.
"Tell me, Azrael," she spoke without looking. "Do you not wish to live with me?"
Azrael didn't respond; instead, he just stared at her back.
The woman with whom he had lived most of his life.
She was one of the few with whom he had shared his vulnerable self.
He still remembered the first time he met her.
It was right after the death of the Creator God.
A young girl, barefoot, standing among the falling remnants of divinity.
She had been crying in confusion.
She didn't know who she was.
She Didn't know why everyone present looked at her with fear, awe, or hunger.
Azrael had approached her slowly back then, knowing how frigle she was.
She had looked up at him with tear-filled golden eyes and asked a single question.
"Why does it hurt?"
That moment had stayed with him longer than any war.
