In his chambers, Azazel's heavy footsteps echoed against the ground as he came to a halt before the wall where the portrait of his beloved now hung. He had moved it there purposefully, placing it directly opposite his chair so he could see her beautiful face at any moment, whenever he desired.
Letting out a weary sigh, he slowly lifted his gloved hand, his fingers tracing the curves of her painted face, the softness of her lips, the gentle slope of her jaw, the spark that once danced in her golden eyes. His heart tightened painfully as he recalled how those very eyes used to look at him, with warmth, with trust, with a love that once seemed eternal.
But it hadn't been eternal. Nothing in his world ever was.
