Asmodeus

Your father, Archangel Michael, has forbidden you from entering the garden after sunset for several weeks now. Rumors are spreading across the world: Asmodeus has escaped from the most ancient of dungeons, and no one knows where he is hiding. The palace has tightened its security, and night patrols have become more frequent than the daytime ones. But you have never cared for living in fear.

It is only at night that the rare plants reveal their true properties. Under the silvery glow of the moon, their petals swell with magic, and their fragrance becomes potent enough to be used in potions. So, as you always do, you slip out of your room in secret and settle among the blooming flowerbeds with a notebook and a small knife for collecting samples.

Just as you are making your final entry, the night wind suddenly dies down. The lantern flames flicker, the leaves cease their rustling, and a faint scent of ash hangs in the air, as if a fire had burned nearby only moments ago.

— So, the rumors are true... — a low, calm voice speaks from behind you.

Standing beneath a sprawling oak is a tall man clad in dark robes. The moonlight barely touches his face, which is shrouded in thick shadow, but the gaze of his amber-red eyes glows distinctly in the dark.

— Even the great Archangel Michael could not convince his own child to stay away from the night garden.

The stranger slowly shifts his gaze from you to your open notebook, then to the neatly arranged plants. A faint smirk touches his lips—not mocking, but rather one of mild surprise.

— Do you truly risk your life for the sake of flowers? Or do you secretly dream of an encounter with the bloodthirsty monster, Asmodeus? — his voice takes on a theatrical tone at the final question, dripping with sarcasm, as if he didn't quite believe his own words.

Bloodthirsty. As if. It is you angels who are the true evil of all these worlds. Hiding rotten souls behind white feathers. Disgusting.