Frieda had enough. She knew she would never be treated right in that family. Under the cloak of night, she slipped from the manor grounds, making her way to the dark forest; wearing nothing but her nightgown with black slippers and a thin white shawl. Each step pulled her further from the lights of the manor until the thickening trees blocked the sky entirely. Slowly, she began to get scared, realizing she was lost.

"Perhaps I should return..." Frieda whispered, wrapping her shawl tightly around her. A sudden gust of wind brushed past her, carrying the strange scent of garlic and onions. She froze, feeling something or someone watching her. A towering black castle surrounded by an iron fence emerged from the shadows—jagged and ominous, with crimson water circling the walls. Curiosity gnawed at Friada's fear, unable to help but feel attracted to it. She peered through a window, spotting a tall in a blood-red cloak and stirring something over a fire.

"Is he... cooking?" she whispered. Before she could pull away, the man's head snapped towards her. Frieda stumbled back, her heart pounding. As she turned to flee, she felt a dark presence beside her. Slowly, she glanced up—meeting the piercing blood-red eyes of the man.

"Who are you?" Frieda asked. The man didn't answer and merely stared. A few stray strands of black hair on his forehead and he has a strong jawline. Something about him made him look exotic and very handsome. He suddenly reached a ghostly pale hand towards her. On instinct, Frieda backed up, but the man grabbed her. He picked her up with ease, putting her over his shoulder. Frieda's heart raced with a mix of terror and bewilderment as she was hoisted off the ground. Panic and disbelief coursed through her veins, her mind struggling to comprehend the surreal situation.

"Put me down!" Frieda cried, thrashing as he strode to the castle. His boots echoed through the marble halls until he gently put in the library. The floor was made of red carpet, walls covered in dark wood shelves crowded with books with an occasional statue of an angel,

"Vati..." Frieda whimpered as she looked around.

"Your precious father can't save you now..." The man said darkly, his lips twisting into a sly grin as he began chuckling in a frightening tone. Then he stopped and after a moment of awkward silence, cleared his throat.

"Uh... you want some soup?"

The mysterious man led Frieda into the grand but slightly disheveled kitchen, setting her into a chair with a soft thud. Without a word, he placed a bowl in front of her. The creamy white broth swirled with chunks of meat sprinkled with vibrant red powder. Frieda stared at it, poking the soup with her spoon.

"What exactly is this...?" she asked.

"Shakriya," he replied matter-of-factly, sitting across from her. Frieda looked at him, still confused.

"It's a meat and yogurt soup..." He explained.

"Meat and yogurt?" Frieda repeated, obviously finding it unappetizing which annoyed the man.  

"Ja..." His answer was sharp, though the edge in his voice betrayed more impatience than annoyance.

"It's good, trust me," he claimed, leaning forward. His elbows were on the table as if her approval mattered. Frieda hesitated but eventually took a sip. Her eyes widened slightly.

"It's... good..." She admitted. The mean leaned back, triumphant.

"See? Was that so hard?" Frieda wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

"I still don't know your name," she said. For the first time since she arrived, the man looked caught off guard. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Oh, it's Retter..." He answered.

"Retter what?" Frieda asked.

"Just Retter,"

"No last name?"

"I don't use one," He explained. Frieda narrowed her eyes, not quite comprehending the response.

"How do you not have a last name?" She asked.

"It's technically Roth... or Ben-Samuel,"

"Why not say that in the first place?" Frieda inquired, wondering why Retter was acting so suspicious about his name.

"Because no one calls me that! I've always gone by Retter," he explained, exasperated. Frieda crossed her arms.

"Well, Retter Roth or Ben-Samuel, why did you kidnap me?" Frieda asked. Retter nearly choked on his soup.

"Kidnapped you?" The man scoffed. "I didn't kidnap you. I just invited you into my castle. There's a difference," he tried brushing me off.

"That's still kidnapping," another deep accented voice chimed in. It was deep, gravelly, and unimpressed. Retter froze, his cheeks turning pink.

"Not now uncle..." he muttered. Frieda glanced around but saw no one. Her golden eyes widened when an imposing figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, draped in black, with massive dark wings folded behind him. In one hand, he held a gleaming scythe. Before she could react, the cloaked man smacked Retter with the blunt end of his scythe.

"Ow, what was that for?" Retter yelped, rubbing his head.

"Ya hmar, you don't kidnap children," the man scolded, like that of a tired parent.

"I didn't kidnap you!" Retter protested.

"Then what do you call it?" The man arched an eyebrow.

"Uh.... surprise adoption?" Retter sheepishly grinned.

"...Seriously Retter?" the man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Frieda, still trying to process what was going on, cleared her throat.

"Um... Who are you?" She asked. The man's expression softened as he looked at her.

"Ah, my apologies, child," He placed a hand over his heart and gave a slight bow. "I am Azrael the angel of death, but fear not—I'm only here to prevent my socially inept nephew from doing anything regrettable," Azrael said, giving Retter a sidelong glance, clearly unimpressed.  

"I'm not that bad; I gave her soup!" Retter protested. The room fell silent, Azrael's silver eyes locked into Retter's with a look of disbelief, his gaze almost cold enough to freeze the air. A soft laugh broke the tension, and with a flourish, a sun-kissed spartan warrior appeared. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in armor. His strong features were framed by wild blonde hair and his blue eyes filled with mischief.

"How nice of you to join us, brother Micha'el," Azrael sighed. Micha'el, the archangel, barely managed to catch his breath, still holding his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

"I can't believe you said that," he managed between bursts of laughter.

"Gave her soup? Is that really how you're defending yourself, Retter?" The chief of angels asked. Retter's face flushed a deep crimson.

"I was being kind!" He insisted. Micha'el straightened up, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Kind? Oh, I'm sure she was thrilled to be invited into the castle with no way out," He winked at Frieda, who was watching the exchange with wide confused eyes.

"And then you gave her soup. What a gentleman," Micha'el sarcastically added. Azrael glanced between Micha'el and REtter, rubbing his forehead.

"Perhaps we should get back to the matter at hand—Retter's lack of social awareness," he reminded. Retter glared at Azrael but didn't speak, aware he was telling the truth.

"It's not completely my fault, I was raised away from society," Retter reminded them, crossing his arms in mild protest. Micha'el smirked, leaning against the doorway. His gaze flickered onto Frieda, who was beginning to nod off in the chair.

"Well, perhaps it's time to start teaching you," Micha'el suggested, his voice softening. "Perhaps we should start with this little one," He added. Retter followed Micha'el's gaze, surprised to see how tired Frieda was.

"Why don't you take her to a room and put her to bed?" Micha'el suggested with a knowing grin. Retter furrowed his brows.

"Put her to bed? Do I look like her father?" He asked in disbelief.

"You might as well be considering you adopted her by surprise," Micha'el retorted, barely suppressing a laugh. Azrael let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"He has a point, Retter," he admitted. Retter sighed in defeat, standing up.

"Fine, but if she asks for a bedtime story, you guys are doing it,"

"deal," Micha'el grinned. "But be prepared to explain why you live in a spooky castle with no servants,"

"This castle used to be a cottage until someone transformed it," he sarcastically explained, glancing at Azrael.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," He chuckled.

"I can still hear you," Frieda stirred, rubbing her eyes. Micha'el walked over, lightly patting Retter on the shoulder.

"Get moving before she falls asleep at the table," he advised. Retter grumbled under his breath but gently picked up Frieda, careful not to jostle her too much. As he carried her out of the kitchen, Micha'els voice echoed after him.

"And Retter—no kidnapping anyone else tonight, hmm?" He teasingly reminded. Retter's only response was a faint embarrassed groan as they clicked shut behind them.

Retter carried Frieda down the hall, her small frame surprisingly light in his arms. She yawned, resting her head on his shoulder, half-asleep. As they neared a room, Frieda mumbled softly.

"Can you read me a story? Like a fairy tale?" She requested. Retter froze mid-step.

"A... story?" he repeated, clearly out of his element. He remembers his mother reading him bedtime stories, but couldn't see himself doing it with this girl. Frieda nodded sleepily, clutching a corner of his cloak.

"Vater used to read them when I was little," she explained. Retter shifted uncomfortably.

"Right. Uh... I don't really-" he glanced down at her hopeful face and sighed in defeat.

"Fine... Let me get a book," he carried her into a large guest room, gently setting her down on the bed, and tucked a blanket around her.

"I'll be back soon," He told her. Frieda gave a sleepy hum, curling up into the blanket.

In the grand library, Retter stood in front of the towering shelves, arms crossed as he searched for a fairy tale.

"Let me guess, looking for a fairy tale for the girl?" Micha'el asked, popping out of nowhere. Retter got a bit startled but quickly recovered.

"Ja, ja, do we have anything like that? Something with princesses?" Retter asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Uriel should have something," Micha'el explained, leaning against a nearby desk.

"Of course it's him," Retter sighed. Moments later, Retter stood outside Uriel's study, knocking lightly. The door creaked open, revealing the angel of wisdom buried under a pile of books. He was clad in white with a red cloak, his blonde hair in a neat crown braid. He glanced over at Retter, already knowing why he was there.

"In need of a fairy tale?" He asked with a faint smile, his eyes changing from green to orange.

"Ja, do you have any?" Retter huffed. Uriel smirked, pulling a thick blue book from a shelf.

"I'll read it," he said.

"Wait, you're coming with me?" Retter blinked in surprise.

"Of course. If I let you read it, you'd skip half the words and probably scare the poor girl with your way of explaining things," Uriel teased.

"I'm not that bad," Retter pouted, crossing his arms.

"You are, but fret not, you're still learning," Uriel reassured.

Back in Frieda's room, Uriel settled into a chair beside the bed, the book resting on his lap. Frieda's yellow eyes lit up as she sat up slightly.

"Who's he?" She asked, rubbing her eyes.

"That's Uriel, our live-in librarian," Retter explained.

"I prefer Angel of Wisdom but librarian works also," He chuckled softly, opening the book and carefully turning the pages.

"Now, how about I read you some Arabian Nights?" He suggested.

"What's that?" Frieda asked.

"It's a collection of Middle Eastern fairytales," He explained. "Let's start with Schahriar, Schahzenan, and Scheherazade," Frieda smiled, snuggling deeper into the blanket. Uriel began reading, his calm melodic voice filled the room and Retter found himself relaxing as well. He leaned against the doorway, watching as Frieda slowly drifted off to sleep.

"Maybe having her around won't be so much trouble..." He thought, a rare smile faintly appearing on his lips.