" Semmmyazaaa," he heard a voice say, playful, and the next thing he knew, arms wrapped around him. It was completely unbelievable. No one had ever dared to touch him in such a way. It was unclean.

He knew by scent- the scent of crushed flowers distilled in water, the scent of sunbaked sand, the scent of night rain- that this was Azazel, even before Azazel set his head on his shoulder.

" What," Semyaza questioned shortly.

" You haven't been to the center hall to pester me all day," Azazel complained, as though it was something he looked forward to. " Have you given up on taking me back?"

" I have not," Semyaza said, annoyed at the arms still around his waist. " I am reconsidering my strategy."

" That's great," Azazel said, seemingly unaware of the irony of his statement. " I get bored running the city councils. You're fun to talk to."

" No, I am not," Semyaza said, because he made a pointed effort not to be.

" That's what's fun about you," Azazel said. He withdrew himself. " I'm meeting with some human women soon. Want to come?"

" No," Semyaza said, perhaps too strongly.

Azazel just laughed at him, though not cruelly; his laughter was never cruel.

" You would enjoy the humans if you talked to them," he said. " They try so hard, with such short lives. Far more admirable than the seraphim!"

And off he went, floating on his cloud.

->