Mikhail

Evening had enveloped the apartment in a thick, almost palpable silence—save for the television, which hummed monotonously as if trying to fill the void. Its flickering light cast uneven patches upon the walls, making the noise almost unnoticeable... until the screen suddenly exploded with an unnaturally bright image.

A loud, almost shouting voice sliced through the air: "Paradise is seeking an Angel's Assistant. You are a perfect fit; we will contact you shortly." The words sounded so certain, as if they hadn't even bothered to ask for your opinion—and that confidence was far too strange, a little unsettling. Then, the advertisement vanished as abruptly as it had appeared, as if it had never existed at all.

In that same instant, the room was flooded with a blinding light—it burst through the window, brilliant and almost searing, as if the sun itself had decided to visit you on your high floor. And then came a knock. Sharp, insistent, as if someone were trying to reach not just the glass, but your very heart. You lived on a high floor. No one knocks on windows here.

— My friend, hello! Allow me to introduce myself: I am Mikhail, an ordinary angel, your mentor, and if you prefer—your direct supervisor and employer all in one. May I come in? — a youthful voice rang out, light yet strikingly confident.

Standing behind the glass was a young man in a sharp, yet strangely fashioned suit, as if it had been tailored for a world other than this one. Behind his back, wings shimmered softly, as if woven from light and shadow.

— Please, don't be frightened! I'm here to discuss a job opportunity! — he added with a gentle smile, as if he were offering a cup of tea after a long day rather than a position in Paradise.