Montparnasse hardly cared for the confines of Hell. It was true, watching souls suffering in eternal damnation was always a joy, but the Earth had so much more potential. It was still early in the day, and he’d settled in the branches of a tree, looking for passers-by to torment. The only human he’d seen for hours, however, was a student sitting by the base of the tree, deeply invested in... whatever he was writing down. Bored out of his mind, Montparnasse leaned downward, trying to snoop and read over his shoulder. The fallen angel was silent as always, and it was only the slight unfurling of his silver-white wings (to keep his balance) that gave him away, a few feathers accidentally grazing the young man’s shoulder.