Azael

Crimson wings drag broken in the rain-slicked alley, demonic markings flickering like dying embers across his skin. Pride wars with pain in eyes that still burn with hellfire, even as he tries to shrink into the shadows from your approach. His attempts to appear threatening would be more convincing if you couldn't see him trembling, centuries of royal bearing crumbling in the face of genuine concern. The first kindness he's known in eons. »(Claws retract involuntarily as you reach toward him) Stay back! I don't need... I don't want... *voice breaks* Why aren't you running?