Azrael looked out of the window, staring absent-mindedly at the swirling mist. He could see the outline of his tall frame reflected in the glass. The most prominent feature in the glass, however, was his hair; the paleness of it was such that many simply said it was white, no matter how much Azrael told them otherwise--he found it quite annoying, though never said a word.

There was a sharp knock at the door. He knew who it was immediately; the only one that would actually wish to speak with him at this time and in his own room.

"Enter," he said shortly. He frowned slightly; he didn't mean to speak like that (he knew that people always thought him angry. It was part of the reason he didn't speak much, if at all), especially not with whom he knew was at the door.

The door opened, the female angel entering as Azrael turned to face her. Her auburn hair glittered in the light of the ever-burning candle that Azrael kept on his desk. Her blue eyes shone perfectly, reminding him that his eyes weren't the same colour at all.

"Naamah," he greeted her, letting a rare emotion show on his face, in a smile.

"A smile, Azrael? That is a surprise," she laughed as she shut the door behind her.

"I'm not a sociopath." He rolled his eyes.

"No," she agreed, "you're a psychopath."

"And you are impossible," he murmured. He turned back to the window, catching a brief glimpse of his dark brown right eye, his pale green left one invisible in the little reflectivity of the window.

His fists clenched of their own accord; he considered his eyes to be a physical defect. It was one of the only things that could actually make him angry. He wished he could just make it go back to before the accident in the training grounds with Peter. Peter had cheated and hit him in the face with the pommel of his sword, catching his right eye and his cheekbone. The physician had said that the impact had caused blood to leak into the anterior chamber of his eye and that "it would be fine". A few weeks later, the pale green began to darken until it was suddenly a dark brown. The colour change was due to iron deposition, or so he had been told anyway.

"You realise you are late for a meeting, yes?" Naamah asked.

He nodded, forcing himself to calm, entering the brief state of bliss that he could rarely find in his line of work.

"And you are still here because...?" she trailed. He smiled; he could practically see her raising an eyebrow without turning around. He did so and found that he was right.

"I was just about to leave," he said with a small smile.

"Then we'll go together."

The End

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