Fallen Angel's Harem in the Abyss

Later that not-evening, as the vines hummed low and the berry scents thinned to a sleepy haze, the others drifted into their own quiet worlds.

Sylvara had returned to her roots, literally—submerging partway into the soil, her glowing skin veined with gold and green blending seamlessly with the earth, her amber eyes half-lidded as she whispered lullabies to unseen blooms, her voice a faint melody carried on the mist.

Virelya stretched out lazily across a coil of herself, her porcelain mask cracked with a faint smile, mumbling strange, broken prayers in a language older than names, her golden, slit-pupiled eyes fluttering closed as she slipped into a half-doze.

Azareel and Nyxsha were the last ones up, sitting near the edge of the glade where the moss grew thin and the broken cathedral stones peeked through like old bones pushing up from forgotten graves.

The air was cooler here, the Abyss's chill seeping in, a reminder that the garden's warmth was borrowed, not owned.

Azareel was braiding something again—vines, twigs, a flower or two—their forms twisting into uneven loops, not symmetrical but somehow beautiful in their imperfection, his silver-white hair catching the fading glow of the berries.

Nyxsha watched him in silence, her massive form hunched on a jagged rock, her golden eyes narrowed, her tail twitching faintly.

The quiet pressed on her, heavy with unspoken thoughts, her black fur rippling with unease.

Then, finally. "Why?"

He looked up, his silver-gray eyes, flecked with rain-blue, blinking in gentle confusion. "Why what?"

She shifted, her claws flexing against the stone, clearly irritated at having to elaborate, her voice gruff.

"Why do you do that? Sit around with things that can eat you. Smile at things that hiss. Braid vines like they'll hug you back."

He blinked, then smiled faintly, his fingers pausing on the braid. "Because they don't eat me. They hiss a little less. And… sometimes they do hug me."

Nyxsha's tail thumped once behind her, hard, sending a puff of moss into the air. "That's stupid."

"Maybe," he said softly, his smile unwavering.

She turned to him, her golden eyes narrowing, her voice dropping low, laced with frustration. "You didn't even flinch when Sylvara kissed you."

"I didn't know it was a kiss at first. i thought was was going to give me another berry," he admitted, his cheeks flushing faintly under the garden's glow.

"Still," she pressed, her tail flicking again.

Azareel looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the uneven braid.

Then, softly. "Was I supposed to be scared?"

"You're always supposed to be scared," she hissed, her voice sharp, her claws scraping the rock. "This place isn't safe. We aren't safe. I'm not safe. You think I'm some fluffy pillow because I let you curl up on my tail?!"

He tilted his head, his silver eyes meeting hers. "Well… kind of," he said, his voice earnest.

She twitched, her tail flaring behind her like a whip. "You're lucky you're cute."

He beamed, his smile bright and unfiltered. "You think I'm cute?"

"NO—shut up—don't twist things—" she snapped, her golden eyes flashing, her tail whipping through the air with a sharp crack.

Silence settled again, heavy and charged, the garden's hum fading into the background. Azareel waited, patient, his braid forgotten in his lap.

Then, a small voice broke it.

"…Why me?"

He looked up, his brow furrowing softly.

She wasn't looking at him, her golden eyes fixed on the moss between her claws, her fur rippling uneasily down her arms, like her whole body was caught between fight and flight.

"Why don't you act this way with the others? Sylvara. Virelya. The rest of the pit-things that fawn over you."

"I do act like this," he said gently, his voice a quiet anchor. "I just… don't sleep curled up to their tail."

Her claws twitched, digging faint grooves in the stone.

He leaned over, gently—close enough to almost touch, his warmth brushing against her fur. "Is it weird? That I feel safe with you?"

Nyxsha didn't answer.

Her jaw worked, her ears flicked back, her tail stilling as if frozen in place.

The words hung between them, raw and unarmored, stirring something deep in her chest that she couldn't claw away.

Finally, she lay down abruptly, turning her back to him, her massive form curling slightly, her voice muffled against the moss. "You're lucky I'm too tired to bite your head off."

He smiled, soft and knowing, and lay down beside her. "Thanks for not biting my head off."

Her tail wrapped around him instinctively, pulling him closer, her grumble faint.

"…Shut up," she mumbled, her voice thick with reluctance.

And moments later, she added, even softer, barely audible.

"…You're warm."

Azareel's eyes fluttered closed, his breath evening out.

"So are you," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the gathering shadows.

She didn't reply, her golden eyes staring into the darkness, but her purring started—slow, quiet, a heartbeat sound made of fur and fire and something long buried in her bones, vibrating through them both.

The garden didn't devour that night.

It just listened, its vines still, its blooms softened, holding them in a quiet embrace as the Abyss whispered on.