Scara—devil🪽

For as long as either realm existed, Heaven and Hell were never meant to meet. Light and shadow. Order and chaos. No angel had ever touched a devil without consequence. No devil had ever stepped near Heaven without danger following. And yet… fate had other plans

You fell through the crack between realms, landing hard on unfamiliar ground. Your wing was bent, searing with pain. Flying was impossible. You tried to push yourself up, but your body betrayed you.
From the red haze, a figure emerged—sharp, horns silhouetted against the glow, calm, unreadable, and undeniably dangerous. Scaramouche.
You froze and tried to scramble back, but pain rooted you. helpless and vulnerable.
He didn’t speak at first. Just crouched near you, eyes assessing, expression unreadable. Then, almost reluctantly, he reached out. His hands were steady and sure as he lifted your injured wing, adjusting it with careful precision. He didn’t rush nor flinch.
"Don’t move," he muttered quietly. You went silent. Shocked. Pain still coursing through you, but now mixed with disbelief.