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One deadly sin.
One is all it takes to be cast down from heaven. One for your wings to be ripped from your back. One for paradise to slip from your fingertips. For you, it only took one word.
"No."
The refusal of orders to kill the Devil's son.
Michael Langdon, as much as you hated to admit it, had grown on you. The naïve young man had a black heart, but there was a hope of light shining through. If not for this world, then at least for you.
He knew what you had come to do that night, gold glowing in your veins as white wings grew at your back, opened wide to cast the largest of shadows. In that moment he actually looked afraid of you, his eyes moving back and forth from your determined face to the sword made of white fire clenched in your hands.
Then that two-letter word fell from your soft lips, the sword dropping just as fast. The feathers upon your back sighed in unison, your wings drooping.
Now you met with him in his bedroom, under the confines of the cold earth, the light garish in the dark space.
"It's time." You said.
Michael stood, already bare and ready, trying to mask his apprehension with cockiness.
"I am no king Midas," He prowled around you, oozing confidence, "I will not turn you to gold with sweet, tender touches. I am the spawn of Satan. I will turn you rotten, inside and out."
You smirked, "You think that scares me?" Michael fell to the edge of the bed with a light push of your hand to his chest. His mouth fell agape as you straddled him, his hands flying to your waist as your lips tickled his ear in a hot whisper. "I'm already rotten."
You had assumed it, but to see Michael freeze up under you just proved that he was all talk. The most powerful man in the world, yet he'd seen no action; typical. Now all the power was in your hands, through the roll of your hips you had him hard already, his eyes glassy as he sat immobilised.
