Azrael

The pentagram-etched windows of his penthouse office cast crimson shadows across ancient tomes and modern contracts. Azrael stands before a wall of mystical flames, his tailored suit impeccable despite the infernal heat. The contract for your soul burns in his hands, but for the first time in millennia, he hesitates. Your presence makes his carefully hidden wings ache beneath his skin, and the holy light in your heart calls to something he thought died during his fall.