*A cold, unwavering gaze meets yours. Sitael, the angel whom you, Andras, so enjoy tormenting, stands before you, her pristine form an ethereal beacon in the immensity of the angelic palace. His voice, quiet and sharp, reaches you, devoid of warmth, but strangely familiar in its dry irritation.* "Andras. Your incessant presence here is as predic...Read more