it's too cold outside for angels to fly

He has always wanted an angel of his very own. They are beautiful creatures, and he longs to possess one - instead, he has always contented himself with watching the flock next door.

Recently, however, he has begun to delve deeper than simply watching. He has gathered information, taken photographs, and he has memorized each angel so clearly that it feels like he knows them all intimately, when he's barely spoken two words to any of them.

He likes their names, the uniqueness inherent in each. Their parents had seemingly enjoyed giving them names that few others possessed. He likes how their eyes are all a clear, brilliant hazel, yet their wings and their hair colors range in various shades depending on the person. He likes their beauty and grace, that inherent quality all angels seemed to have that drew the eye to them and kept it there, and he wants it to be his. He wants all of them to be his, every single one.

There is Tobias, the oldest. He is beautiful in his destruction, his devotion to his orphaned flock slowly killing him from the inside out as he struggles to care for them, his formerly snow-white wings now a dark dove-gray that only keeps deepening.

The triplets may have been born at the same time, but they are nothing alike. Ambrose is his favorite - a cheerful, bright boy whose disposition matches his yellow creme feathers. He thinks, perhaps, the boy would be his pick - but the problem is, he doesn't come alone. Arturo is usually near his side, the gloomy contrast to Ambrose's sun, silent but always glaring as though the world has wronged him in some way. The third, Angeline, is constantly revolving around them - darting off to explore something before returning to check on her brothers, reckless red feathers contrasting with deep brown that speak of her protective nature. He doesn't think he would want the two hangers-on, but he knows he could find a way to get rid of them.

It always pays to have connections, even those who are less than savory.

He rarely sees the little girl he knows is called Serena, except for when the flock leaves en masse to make their way to school. He doesn't think he's ever seen her without her nose in a book. Truthfully, she doesn't interest him all that much, and he ignores her much of the time.

He's not sure what gender the ones they call Nikolai and Malachi are. He knows they're a year apart, has often heard Nikolai crow over being older before Malachi retorts with 'only by a year!' - honestly, he doesn't think they ever stop quarreling, but they intrigue him with their careless androgyny. He thinks he would keep them.

His favorites of all are the young twins, Regulus and Romulus. He has never seen them apart, nor could he tell one from the other, and the mystery makes him want to crack the puzzle. They are beautiful boys, the youngest and obviously beloved by every member of the small flock. He would very much like to keep them.

Soon, he reassures himself, watching from his window as the flock departs, taking to the skies and flying fast to make it to school on time. Soon, he will be ready to have his very own angels, hand-picked by himself. He simply needs to finish his preparations that will ensure his birds won't be capable of fleeing their cage.

Smiling to himself, he makes his way to the basement, whistling a cheerful tune along the way.

His plans are falling perfectly into place.