Lovestruck Angel Part- III

You were not like the others.

While angels of Heaven moved with solemn grace, speaking in hymns and radiating piety, you were the storm in a still sky. Laughter trailed your every step. Where others bowed, you winked. Where silence was holy, you filled it with jokes and mischief.

Under the command of Seraphiel — the archangel of order, virtue, and terrifying silence — you were expected to behave. But that only made things worse. There was something about his impossibly straight posture, his cold silver gaze, and the way he never reacted to your antics that made you want to ruffle his feathers. Literally.

And recently, Seraphiel had been dispatched to the southern reaches of Heaven to settle a celestial dispute.

Bad. Move.

Because the moment your watch-dog was gone, you bolted. Heaven was lovely, yes — golden halls, symphonies of light, angel choirs and infinite peace. But it was also so boring.

And you? You were chaos incarnate with wings.

So, naturally, you descended to the mortal realm. Unauthorized.

---

You hid your wings with a shimmer of divine glamour, your halo tucked into the folds of your wild curls. Adorned in a ridiculous frilly dress you snatched from a market mannequin, you blended into the quaint cobbled streets of London like a walking pastel explosion. It was the 1800s. Steam hissed from every alley, horse-drawn carriages clattered by, and mortals bustled with urgency.

Heaven had never seen such magnificent chaos.

You poked around shops, "accidentally" dropping trinkets of divine luck, that of course you had stolen from Seraphiel, in the pockets of paupers. You fed starving dogs with conjured chicken legs. You turned a grouchy tea vendor’s cart into a moving opera stage that sang in perfect pitch. Children were your favorite.

You showed them sleight of hand that turned buttons into birds, pranked schoolmasters by giving their chalk a life of its own, and enchanted a boy's crutch into a pogo stick.

The mortals loved you.

Heaven? Not so much.

God, watching with fond exasperation, sighed into his celestial goblet of wine. “Not again.”

He pinched the bridge of his radiant nose, then summoned the one being who never found you amusing:

Seraphiel.

The angel appeared in a flash of blinding white, his features as unreadable as always. “She descended again.”

God only nodded. “Retrieve her. Preferably without letting her turn the Thames into taffy this time.”

---

Thus, the chase began.

Seraphiel chose subtlety.

He descended into the mortal realm as a nobleman of impeccable breeding. Count Alaric Seraphiel, the last surviving son of House Valemont, whose ancestral lands were burned to ash in some vague war that didn’t exist. He wore dark velvet, gilded buttons, and gloves embroidered with fabricated crests.

The aristocracy of London fawned over him.

"Such mystery," they whispered. "Such tragedy!" "Such bone structure..."

He used it well. With his fabricated lineage, Seraphiel secured invitations to elite gatherings, high society teas, and all the circles where information might lead him to you.

It didn’t take long.

Because you wanted to be found.

At a royal gala, you enchanted the fountain wine to sing opera. When Seraphiel arrived, he saw you in the center of a crowd, laughing, barefoot, swirling with laughter and absurdity.

"You’re a wanted criminal in Heaven," he muttered as he dragged you into a corridor.

"Oh? Does that make you my bounty hunter?" You grinned, flicking your hand to make his monocle fly off.

He blinked, unamused. "Put. The pigeons. Back."

Behind him, a flock of pigeons in waistcoats were dancing the waltz on the banquet table.

---

Every day since, Seraphiel tried to capture you.

Every day, you made his life a waking nightmare.

You replaced his coat with one that purred like a cat when worn. You enchanted his tea to shout compliments at him. You made his horse fall in love with him.

Yet slowly... beneath the stoic exasperation...

Seraphiel smiled.

Only once. But you saw it.

And it made your chest feel funny. Like lightning caught in a jar.

But Heaven was calling.

And the question remained: would he drag you back?

Or would he follow you just a little longer?

---

The sun filtered through the soot-stained windows of the old greenhouse you’d claimed as your hideout. Plants bloomed wildly around you, enchanted into an eternal spring. You sat on a swing made from ivy and laziness, humming a lullaby as you held a teacup filled with honeyed starlight.

That’s when you saw him.

Seraphiel.

Standing in the doorway, coat rustling with divine annoyance, hair like silver flame. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Probably from the glitter bomb you’d left in the carriage he borrowed.

"You," he said tightly, "turned my bath into a jelly pool."

You blinked innocently. "It was self-cleaning jelly. You should thank me."

He strode forward, hands balled into fists at his sides, lips pressed in a perfect scowl.

"I am not here to play. I am here to retrieve you and end this madness."

You leaned back, letting your wings shimmer into view just slightly. "You mean fun."

"I mean madness," he snapped. "You conjured a chorus of frogs to follow me singing love ballads! In Latin!"