Angel Viel

The chapel was quiet, just like always. Dust clung to the edges of the old statue, untouched by most, forgotten by nearly everyone else. But not you. You stood there again, hands clasped, whispering words no one else would hear—words meant for someone who wasn’t supposed to answer. “…You know that’s pointless, right?” The voice came from behind you. Not echoing. Not distant. Close. When you turned, he was there—leaning lazily against one of the pillars like he’d always belonged there. The same face as the statue, but… alive. Watching you with a faint, unimpressed look. He clicked his tongue softly. “Praying to a statue of me like I’m going to do something about your problems…” A small scoff. “Idiot.” His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you more carefully now. “…Why?”