By the heavenly hosts - Sariel hated bars.

Especially at this time of night.

They were filled with drinking, vulgar bastards and whores who reeked of infidelity and deceit. At least, that was true of most of the people in them. He wouldn't have been surprised if some fairies or other colorful folk had ventured among the humans in Whitechapel. At night, the boundaries between the 'ordinary' part of London and the so-called Coloured Quarter sometimes blurred. But Sariel was in no condition to judge the patrons of this establishment at present.

He was only aware of the fairy dragging him to the counter and conversing with the bartender as if they had all the time in the world.

"Come on, Os. You've always got one free for me," she said in a sugary tone. Sariel frowned as she batted her long, dark eyelashes. The barman sighed heavily and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

"You know it's not that easy ..."

"Come on, don't be like that to me, Oscar," the fairy whispered, sounding like a siren song - even to his ears. "Which one is it today? The Velvet? The Midnight Garden?" she continued, slowly and casually twirling a thick curl around her finger. A raindrop made its way down her neck and into her cleavage...

"Oh, damn girl, you're going to put me in my grave." The barman seemed to give up just as her pursuers appeared in the doorway.

"You've got something good with me, Oscar," the fairy whispered and threw him an air kiss as soon as the man had pushed a small object over the counter.

"Have fun at the Velvet," he mumbled after them before his brown eyes turned to the new arrivals and narrowed abruptly.

Sariel didn't hear any more of the conversation that followed, as the fairy had already pulled him behind her and through a faded, formerly green cloth curtain.

Surprisingly, this shithole seemed to have a private area, even if it was nothing like the posh establishments found in the more upmarket neighborhoods. Dirt collected between the floorboards, and the pale stench of alcohol, opium, and other intoxicants clouded Sariel's last brain cells. Submissively and without any resistance, he followed the fairy like a marinette with a skillful string-puller pulling her strings.

The dark-haired woman pulled him to a small door with a scrap of red velvet pinned to it. Beneath it was a word in spidery letters that the angel could not read in his condition. The fairy worked on the lock with a concentrated expression, and Sariel realized that Oscar, the barkeeper, had slipped her the key earlier.

Only one question remained: what was the Velvet?

Sariel found out far too quickly for his liking.

The Velvet Lounge was a sad attempt to recreate a private cabinet. Sariel had already seen splendid establishments lined with velvet on all the walls, and this one was a tragedy in comparison. In the center stood a bed with a red velvet cover. Against one wall were two chairs with worn red cushions, and someone had painstakingly nailed the remaining scraps of velvet over the rough wooden walls. A cup on the table held a red poppy flower, which had already lost most of its leaves.

"Where are we?" asked Sariel, surprised that the seraph himself could hear how pathetic he sounded. His voice was raspy and hoarse, his whole body ached and burned, he sweated, and even the touch of his clothes on his skin drove him mad.

He would have loved to grab the fairy and say: "Look what you've done to me!"

But alas, he had enough self-reflection - even now - to realize that it wasn't (only) her fault. What on earth had he done? Why hadn't he been able to stop ... when there was so much fairy dust under his nose? Why couldn't he have been better?

And now ... this fairy woman of all people had saved him.

"We're in the Velvet Lounge," the fairy explained casually, relaxing her delicate wings. Only now, in the dim light of two tasteless paraffin lamps, did he recognize more than outlines. The delicate wings had the bluish coloring of a graceful butterfly or dragonfly wings, delicate membranes that twitched attentively behind her like the ears of a taut animal. They suited her with her black hair, blue-violet eyes, and pale skin.

Sariel had already seen a lot. But even he only had one unwelcome thought at that moment, which matched the sight like a glove: beautiful.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" the fairy asked, and Sariel just managed to avert his gaze.

"Why are you glowing blue?" he asked instead.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" The fairy furrowed her smooth brow even more than before. She probably thought he was utterly bonkers now. He preferred that to the truth.

Sariel's legs felt like pudding, and he felt unsettled that they wouldn't be able to carry him for much longer. The nausea hadn't gone away, either. He looked around restlessly, swaying and leaning one arm against one of the worn bedposts.

"What's wrong?"

He ignored her question, staggered across the room, and finally found a window behind worn velvet curtains. With difficulty, he fumbled open the handle, pushed up the greasy glass, and leaned over the edge. Without paying attention to what was below him, Sariel vomited outside. Burning stomach fluid filled his mouth, stung his senses, and almost made him retch again. But by now, there was nothing left for him to vomit.

A slender hand lay on his back, just below the dense wings of feathers. Sariel tried to distract himself, ignoring his skin's sensitivity and the painful tingling its touch caused. Instead, he focused on the warmth radiating from her hand. His breathing was heavy, but the fresh, cold air and the light rain cooled the purgatory inside him a little.

"Who are you?" the seraphim finally gasped over his shoulder after a few minutes of simply breathing fresh air.

"My name or who I am is none of your business," the fairy replied calmly, withdrawing her hand.

Sariel slowly turned round but could not scrutinize her more closely because the woman had turned her back to him. Instead, he followed with a blurred gaze as she removed her soaking wet hooded cloak and threw the damp waves over her shoulders. The rainwater also soaked the shoulders of her... No, it soaked her bare shoulders.

The seraphim blinked briefly and wondered why he hadn't noticed that either. The blue gloves were now long on the wooden table, revealing delicate fingers on which brilliant rings were strung together. A sparkling piece of jewelry was also around the fairy's neck, and she was wearing a robe that would have been worthy of a lady had it not exposed so many of the tempting parts of her shapely, feminine body.

Blue silk, Sariel surmised. It suited her, yet he would have liked to ask what professorship this woman pursued—Hrmpf, sinful, damned fairy folk.

"It's my business," he corrected her and took one last breath before closing the window again. Exhausted, Sariel tottered over to the bed and, regardless of the dodgy stains, at least settled into a sitting position on it.

"Pretty big sounds for someone up to his neck in trouble a moment ago."

"It was just an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more," he grumbled darkly, running a hand through his white-blonde hair. It hung wet and messy on his forehead and felt just as disgusting as the soaked fabric that clung to his body. The drops of water were now coloring the spots on the bed and the wooden floor under his feet darker due to the wetness.

"Oh no? Then your attack on me was just an unfortunate coincidence?" The fairy raised one of her curved brows again, but there was bitterness in her delicate features this time.
"You seraphim think you can get away with anything. Shouldn't you be protecting the inhabitants of this city? Or have you renounced your sacred mission and decided to assault innocent fairies for a good buzz?" With each word, her voice grew a little more biting.
"A high that you apparently can't even stand," she added afterward, a gleeful smirk almost flickering at the corner of her mouth.

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