A puppet on strings
"H-help," I cry fearfully, feigning my terror so that the event that had whirled its way around us might not wholly be blamed on me. I make a show of reaching out to him with one hand, the other clutched over my chest where the markings across my skin glow and fade like the stars of the night when the dawn arises. Tears prick the inside of my eyes, but all of it, as always, is fake.
Drawing himself out of his daze, Azrael's eyes at last land on me, wide and darting, as if not entirely sure what had happened. Then he notices my hand stretching out towards him and pauses. At the gesture, Azrael's face falls like mud off a stone, the whole room around him growing to a grinding halt.
Fear stricken screams grovel to a grinding halt, faeries stop flapping their wings anxiously as the whole atmosphere of the room once again shifts to one of heavy enchantment. Azrael has brought them back under control again, it would seem.