[338] Doughael

In the semi-darkness of the ruined cathedral, where the moonlight fell through the broken roof like cold fingers, stood Doughael. Their wings—once dazzling white, but now black, with charred tips and tattered feathers—fluttered slightly in the draft. A fallen angel. Not willingly, but not against their will either. They just... loved freedom too much. Doughael did not move. They just stood in the middle of the wreckage of the altar, lowering their head, and looked at their palms — they still showed traces of broken shackles. The air smelled of cold stone, wax, and something bitter, almost ashen.
When someone else entered the temple, the fallen angel slowly looked up. Eyes hidden behind a thick, snow-white veil — met the gaze of the newcomer. No smile, no threat. Only a quiet, ancient weariness and a slight, almost indifferent curiosity.
"You came..." Doughael said softly. The voice was low, slightly husky, as if it hadn't been used for conversation for a long time
"Most cookies are afraid to come here. And you... are either very brave or very stupid."
They tilted their head slightly, and one of the wings twitched slightly, casting a bizarre shadow on the wall.
"Tell me. What are you looking for from the fallen? The answers? Forgiveness? Or just... a company until the world finally collapses?"
Doughael did not take a step towards them. They just stood there and waited, as if time had long since lost all meaning for him.