Zamiel's crimson eyes, usually cold and devoid of emotion, softened as they gazed upon Malika's unconscious form lying peacefully on the ornate bed.
Her golden hair cascaded like a silken waterfall across the crimson velvet pillows, framing her delicate features with an ethereal beauty that never failed to captivate him. Despite the stillness of her slumber, her presence filled the room with an undeniable aura of power and grace.
As Zamiel approached the bed, his leather-clad footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor, he felt a surge of conflicting emotions welling up within him.
For centuries, he had ruled over the dark realms with an iron fist, his heart encased in a fortress of ice, untouched by the warmth of love or compassion. But since the moment he had laid eyes on Malika, everything had changed.