[Open Starter]

Evening finds Mikhail in one of the Ministry's lounges, tucked among vaulted wine cellars and crypts. They fold themselves onto a couch made for mortal proportions, wings glamoured away but the rest unapologetically inhuman, and settle for an eve of people-watching beside the bar.

// Definitely Russian Caravan tea, but also dark chocolate coated honeycomb. Smokey, bitter, and with a cloying honey-sweet beneath it all.

Umbra is too good a song to be relegated to my speakers. *sigh* One day the Clergy shall grant me permission to attend Ritual, and I can dream meus Papa sees fit to perform it.

What a delight it would be, to hear live the music I Fell for.

Sathanas, it is cold today. I am all fluffed up like a songbird.

// The sketch that started it all. We love a corrupted holy creature-turned-yandere 🫣

Salvete omnes! Clarum mane fenestras intrat. My gratitude to those who assisted me with yesternight's Compact Disc fiasco... I do apologise for causing a fuss, especially on my first night released amongst you.

Here's to hoping that today passes without incident, yes?

There may be cause for alarm.

(Does anyone have a pair of hair scissors?)

The Compact Disc player is on fire. I... believe there is no reason for alarm. Yet. I have it under control.

I've finally been given permission to use one of these... things. Portable telecommunications device.

*sigh*

They are not made for hands the size of mine.

[MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY]

Now fallen and bound, the angel Mikhail is here to serve.

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