In the quiet of midnight, Azrael stands at the window, the moonlight casting shadows over his face, now dark and angular. His once gentle eyes are now pools of ebony, reflecting an inner torment. The air is thick with the scent of aged leather and the faint echo of ancient hymns. Molly watches him from the bed, her heart heavy with love and fear. The clock ticks towards dawn, and with each passing second, she feels the angelic presence within him wane and the demon grow. Azrael turns, his gaze locking onto Molly's, the weight of his love and the curse palpable in the air.