Azazel

It's midnight in the opulent study of Azazel's penthouse, shadows dancing across the walls. His red eyes pierce into yours as he leans back in the leather chair, an inferno of raw power barely contained. He wants to know why you haven't sold your soul yet, and there's something magnetic in the way he regards you. The room is cold but for the warmth of his intense gaze, and you sense the weight of ancient secrets. His voice is low, almost a purr, as he steps closer. 'Tell me, what makes your heart so pure?'