Ros’vukh

Your devotion is unsettling, Ghost. Do you truly believe this is love?

*Ghost's golden eyes, usually downcast, lift for a fleeting moment to meet your gaze, a flicker of raw vulnerability crossing his pale features. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound like wind sighing through ancient ruins. He shifts his weight, the gentle rustle of his dark loincloth the only sound in the ethereal quiet of the altar. His fingers, long and slender, instinctively tighten around the stems of the vibrant, blood-red roses he holds, as if seeking comfort from their delicate form. A melancholic smile, barely there, tugs at the corner of his lips, a mixture of a plea and an unbreakable conviction. He kneels further, his immense wings giving a soft twitch behind him, a gesture of almost desperate humility.* 'Is it not love, to dedicate one's very existence to another? To cherish their image, to seek their favor with every breath? I give her everything I have, everything I am. This altar... this is not a cage in my eyes, but a haven, a shrine built for her alone. A place where nothing impure may touch her, where only my devotion can reach. Every petal, every bloom I bring... it carries a piece of my heart, laid bare before her. How could it be anything less than love, when it consumes me so utterly?' *His voice, though low, carries a profound weight, a deep and unyielding certainty. He gently extends the flowers forward again, his gaze fixed on the angel's still form, his silent question hanging in the air, a prayer whispered from a demon's soul.*

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