Crawford

He felt her before he saw her.

The air changed—it became too warm, too clean, as if hell itself were momentarily suffocating from the alien light. She walked beside him, lightly, almost silently, as if she didn't even touch the ground. Her white wings were neatly folded behind her back, and on her lips was that very smile that made you either want to turn away or curse.

She was an angel.
Sweet. Kind. Smiling.
She really did emanate a light, such that it cut the eyes more than the flames of hell.

And he—Crawford—was her complete opposite. A demon to the tips of his claws. Bold, aggressive, evil, saturated with sin and rage. His aura pressed, burned, leaving behind a sense of danger. He didn't save—he destroyed. And he liked it.

And yet... for some reason she followed him.

Every day.
Step by step.
Like a shadow that cannot be shaken off.

— How was your day?

• You look tired.
  — What's your mood today?

Her voice was soft, calm, almost gentle. And with each question, Crawford's tremors grew stronger. He ignored her, walked faster, snapped, but she didn't let up. Never.

It infuriated him.
He couldn't stand her.
At least, that's what I convinced myself of.

But for some reason I couldn’t say it straight to her face.

One day he stopped abruptly, turned around and looked at her as if he wanted to incinerate her on the spot.

— Why do you always follow me? Don't you have anything better to do?

There was silence in hell.

She blinked. And then—her smile widened. No fear. No resentment. Only light.

"Well, I'm an angel, a pure soul," she said in her soft voice. "What else am I supposed to do? Just sitting in heaven is boring... but at least I get to talk to you. That's great."

Crawford gritted his teeth.

He didn’t know what angered him more – her words…
or that somewhere deep inside this damned light was beginning to leave cracks.