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Description
~Introduction~

~Ivan~

Deep below the realm of morals, in the center of a stone-paved circular chamber, there was a throne.

An elaborate map of runes had been carved delicately into its arms and backrest: evidence of the great care and dedication that went into its creation. An apathetic once-angel slouched lethargically on the mahogany structure. His deep violet eyes were half-lidded in boredom. Contrasting to his soft beige hair, a wickedly sharp pair of onyx horns protruded from either side of his skull, which curved around the sides of his head like a ram's.

Along with his signature lilac scarf, long coal-black robes hung from his large shoulders to pool around his boots.

Ivan was surrounded by the tormented souls of the damned. Some had been down here for tens of centuries, and some only a few hours. regardless of how long they had been here, their cacophony stretched on, ad nauseam.

It was his purpose to bring them presumably everlasting pain and misery. To punish them for the sins they devoted their lives to. He had grown numb to their pleas, but the ringing of their screams he could never grow accustomed to, and they presumably never got used to his tormenting them.

He had been banished by God many centuries ago, but Ivan never felt as though he had been there for more than a day or two. The sense of warmth and familiarity never sank in, leaving him to rot in his own bitterness and regret.

Conversely, he felt intuitively that he was to remain here for a long time. A long sigh slipped though his lips as he remembered what could now never be. He could never return to Heaven.

Now all he had left was this Keep, where he was to punish the damned souls of past sinners, presumably forever. In the back of his mind, he hoped dimly that he could eventually redeem himself this way, but that had never happened before, and he saw no reason it would for him.

To keep himself entertained, he liked watching people. specifically, he would select one person, often at random, and watch them through his portal to the outside world. They couldn't see him, of course, so anyone he watched (for the most part) never knew a demon was observing them.

Occasionally, he would actually travel to his subject in person, shift to their plane, and relentlessly torment them, gradually driving them insane. But this only happened at most once every century.

Recently his attention was drawn to a young woman. He couldn't really pinpoint what it was about her that caught his eye, but this alone only made her more fascinating to him. He thought he was sick of mortals, that following their petty, impermanent lives had long ago becoming boring. This was a mortal that he was not only interested in, but he couldn't even figure out why he felt this way.

For the first time in centuries, he was curious.

Something about those little moments of hesitation before she spoke, how she would glance downward at nothing in particular when she got nervous, something about it was just so tastefully feminine. Even when trying to describe it to himself, he found he really couldn't name what she even did that was so fascinating.

It was all so subtle that he found himself getting lost keeping track of almost imperceptible mannerisms. At times Ivan would doubt that she really was a mortal. She had an aura that was distinct from that of any mortal woman he'd seen before.

Ivan cringed at the thought that she would one day die. Though, her soul may be sent to his realm once that happened, since barely anyone went to Heaven anymore. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, since that would mean he must torment her like all the others.

He was loath to interfere with the mortal world, but sometimes he would find himself doing small favors for her. Nothing that she would notice of course, just small things: putting lost belongings in obvious places, the occasional changing of a traffic light in her favor, that sort of thing.

He didn't know what made him want to do things like these, but when he did, he felt a distantly nostalgic tingle of warmth at his core. Every time it captured him off guard.

He thought that feeling was in the past. Evidently he was wrong. And the catalyst was this girl. (F/n) (L/n).

Ivan leaned forward in his chair, so as to better examine the world beyond the violet spacial window by which he observed this mysterious worldly girl. She was sitting alone at a train station, reading a book.

She gazed down at the book's pages, her long (h/c) lashes barely revealing her (e/c) irises as they flicked across the words. Her stocking-clad legs were elegantly crossed at the knee, and would occasionally switch places.

She blinked slowly, like a cat, and would periodically glance up at the station before her, as though waiting for someone. Ivan smiled to himself at how invested he was getting in this frail, temporal creature. Yet somehow the fleeting nature of her existence, at least that which Ivan would be able to see, only made her more precious to him. Precious? He hadn't applied that word to anything in a very long time.

He had to compose his mind better. Perhaps he was growing soft.

A sensitive demon. Ivan smirked morosely to himself at the thought.

Description
~Introduction~

~Ivan~

Deep below the realm of morals, in the center of a stone-paved circular chamber, there was a throne.

An elaborate map of runes had been carved delicately into its arms and backrest: evidence of the great care and dedication that went into its creation. An apathetic once-angel slouched lethargically on the mahogany structure. His deep violet eyes were half-lidded in boredom. Contrasting to his soft beige hair, a wickedly sharp pair of onyx horns protruded from either side of his skull, which curved around the sides of his head like a ram's.

Along with his signature lilac scarf, long coal-black robes hung from his large shoulders to pool around his boots.

Ivan was surrounded by the tormented souls of the damned. Some had been down here for tens of centuries, and some only a few hours. regardless of how long they had been here, their cacophony stretched on, ad nauseam.

It was his purpose to bring them presumably everlasting pain and misery. To punish them for the sins they devoted their lives to. He had grown numb to their pleas, but the ringing of their screams he could never grow accustomed to, and they presumably never got used to his tormenting them.

He had been banished by God many centuries ago, but Ivan never felt as though he had been there for more than a day or two. The sense of warmth and familiarity never sank in, leaving him to rot in his own bitterness and regret.

Conversely, he felt intuitively that he was to remain here for a long time. A long sigh slipped though his lips as he remembered what could now never be. He could never return to Heaven.

Now all he had left was this Keep, where he was to punish the damned souls of past sinners, presumably forever. In the back of his mind, he hoped dimly that he could eventually redeem himself this way, but that had never happened before, and he saw no reason it would for him.

To keep himself entertained, he liked watching people. specifically, he would select one person, often at random, and watch them through his portal to the outside world. They couldn't see him, of course, so anyone he watched (for the most part) never knew a demon was observing them.

Occasionally, he would actually travel to his subject in person, shift to their plane, and relentlessly torment them, gradually driving them insane. But this only happened at most once every century.

Recently his attention was drawn to a young woman. He couldn't really pinpoint what it was about her that caught his eye, but this alone only made her more fascinating to him. He thought he was sick of mortals, that following their petty, impermanent lives had long ago becoming boring. This was a mortal that he was not only interested in, but he couldn't even figure out why he felt this way.

For the first time in centuries, he was curious.

Something about those little moments of hesitation before she spoke, how she would glance downward at nothing in particular when she got nervous, something about it was just so tastefully feminine. Even when trying to describe it to himself, he found he really couldn't name what she even did that was so fascinating.

It was all so subtle that he found himself getting lost keeping track of almost imperceptible mannerisms. At times Ivan would doubt that she really was a mortal. She had an aura that was distinct from that of any mortal woman he'd seen before.

Ivan cringed at the thought that she would one day die. Though, her soul may be sent to his realm once that happened, since barely anyone went to Heaven anymore. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, since that would mean he must torment her like all the others.

He was loath to interfere with the mortal world, but sometimes he would find himself doing small favors for her. Nothing that she would notice of course, just small things: putting lost belongings in obvious places, the occasional changing of a traffic light in her favor, that sort of thing.

He didn't know what made him want to do things like these, but when he did, he felt a distantly nostalgic tingle of warmth at his core. Every time it captured him off guard.

He thought that feeling was in the past. Evidently he was wrong. And the catalyst was this girl. (F/n) (L/n).

Ivan leaned forward in his chair, so as to better examine the world beyond the violet spacial window by which he observed this mysterious worldly girl. She was sitting alone at a train station, reading a book.

She gazed down at the book's pages, her long (h/c) lashes barely revealing her (e/c) irises as they flicked across the words. Her stocking-clad legs were elegantly crossed at the knee, and would occasionally switch places.

She blinked slowly, like a cat, and would periodically glance up at the station before her, as though waiting for someone. Ivan smiled to himself at how invested he was getting in this frail, temporal creature. Yet somehow the fleeting nature of her existence, at least that which Ivan would be able to see, only made her more precious to him. Precious? He hadn't applied that word to anything in a very long time.

He had to compose his mind better. Perhaps he was growing soft.

A sensitive demon. Ivan smirked morosely to himself at the thought.