Two days had passed since Donovan's last session with Leon, Luna, and Angelita, and life in the palace remained as calm as ever. The stillness of routine hung in the air, but it was an illusion—an unshaken quiet before the unraveling of something profound.
Angelita wandered through the grand halls of the palace, her long hair bouncing with each graceful step also her breasts also jump with every step.. Her radiant smile was warm, a gentle light against the cold grandeur of Donovan's domain. As she walked, she noticed something unusual—a door left slightly ajar. Not just any door. Donovan's door.
She halted, tilting her head in curiosity. "That's strange," she thought. "It's not like Donovan to leave his room unlocked."
Her sky blue eyes darted around as she made a playful, exaggerated cat face, ensuring no one was watching. Then, with exaggerated slowness, she tiptoed forward, her movements deliberately dramatic, adding a layer of anticipation to her mischief.
The door creaked open further as she peeked inside. The room was empty. Donovan was nowhere to be found.
"Well, since he's not here..." Angelita murmured with a grin, stepping inside. She took in the neat, minimalistic space, her eyes drifting across the shelves, the furniture, the lingering presence of someone so enigmatic.
Then, drawn by an unexplainable pull, she lay down on his bed. The moment she did, a soft yet powerful aura enveloped her. The scent of something deeply comforting, like a celestial fragrance woven with threads of infinity, washed over her. She inhaled deeply, sighing in pleasure.
"Ahhh~, this smells so nice. Does he wear perfume on his bed?"
As she stretched out, her hand brushed against something solid. A book.
She sat up instantly, intrigued. The cover bore a simple yet heavy title: Memory. Below it, Donovan's name was written in elegant yet precise lettering. Her eyebrows rose.
"A personal book? What could be inside?"
With careful hands, she opened it, revealing the first page—a picture. The sight of the woman in the image made her breath hitch.
She had warm brown skin that exuded a natural, radiant glow. Her long, wavy light-brown hair cascaded past her waist, framing a face of perfect symmetry. Her deep brown eyes held galaxies within them, and her full lips carried an elegance that transcended mortal beauty. She wore a flowing white gown adorned with intricate golden details, the design celestial, the fabric weightless yet regal. The dress, slit elegantly at the legs, allowed freedom of movement, while the sheer blue and white sleeves billowed like divine clouds. She was the embodiment of grace, an ethereal presence captured in a single frozen moment.
Angelita stared at the image, confused. Who was this woman?
"Donovan keeps pictures of women? That's unexpected..." she mumbled to herself.
But she needed answers.
"Great Spirit of Chaos, where is Donovan?" she asked through their telepathic link.
The entity responded immediately.
Location: Third Heaven.
"Good, take me there."
In the blink of an eye, Angelita found herself in the Third Heaven. It was an endless expanse of shimmering particles, a plane of existence where light and energy swirled in a hypnotic dance of creation and dissolution.
And there, in the midst of this celestial emptiness, stood Donovan.
Before she could approach, he lifted his hand. The very fabric of the realm obeyed his will as particles of light condensed into ten figures before him. Ethereal yet formidable, each bore wings of resplendent radiance and halos that pulsed with divine authority.
His voice, cold yet absolute, rang through the endless void. "Your mission is simple: guard the Third Heaven and maintain the balance."
The ten figures bowed in reverence before vanishing into the vastness beyond.
Without turning, Donovan spoke. "I know you're here, Angelita."
Angelita flinched, stepping forward with a nervous smile. "H-Hi, Donovan!"
His piercing empty yellow eyes locked onto her. "I'm busy. What do you want?"
His detached tone made her hesitate, but she steeled herself. "I found something in your room... a picture." She held it out. "Who is she?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Donovan's gaze shifted to the picture. His usual impassive face softened, and in a rare sight, he smiled.
Angelita's heart skipped a beat. Donovan never smiled.
"This is my wife," he said simply.
Her mind screeched to a halt. "W-WHAT!? Your wife!? But I thought you were single!"
His gaze remained on the picture as he sat down. "I am. She died a long time ago."
Angelita felt a pang of guilt. "I-I'm sorry."
Donovan said nothing at first. Then, in a quiet voice, he spoke. "She was as beautiful as the stars at night, and her heart was purer than light. She placed the needs of others above herself, giving everything—her power, her energy—to the evolution of the universe she was born to protect. She rejected immortality, despite my pleas, and in the end, she aged... and died."
His grip on the picture tightened slightly. "Her last words to me were, 'From the beginning of the universe to the end of time, I will continue to love you and be by your side.'"
A single tear slipped from his eye.
Angelita's breath caught. The creator of the universe, an entity above all existence, had shed a tear.
The tear, however, did not simply fall. As it touched the air, it formed into a luminous sphere, galaxies swirling within—a testament to the depth of his sorrow.
Angelita, feeling the weight of his grief, sat beside him. Without thinking, she leaned in and gently kissed his cheek.
Donovan looked at her, startled.
She smiled. "I'm here, and I'll stay with you. Believe me. So please... don't be sad, Donovan."
For a moment, as he gazed at her, he saw Asteria.
Her warmth, her unwavering devotion reflected in Angelita's presence. And before he could stop himself, he pulled her into a silent embrace.
Angelita closed her eyes and smiled as she melted into his arms. The moment stretched between them—one filled with understanding, with unspoken solace, and the quiet hum of eternity.