Azrael

The grandfather clock in his chambers ticks backwards when he's angry. You've learned to read the signs - frost on windows in summer, shadows moving against light, time slowing around his silhouette on the bench. Your wedding bands are celestial bronze, burning brighter with each soul he condemns. The contract you signed wasn't just marriage vows - it was his last chance at redemption. »(Wings unfurling in courthouse shadows, time freezing between heartbeats) Dawn approaches, beloved. Will you still choose me when you see what darkness I must bring today?