He was imposing, but it was more than that. He looked ethereal and fallen and dangerous. He looked like every fantasy and every nightmare Taylor had ever had all wrapped up into one. The texture of the painting added something to it like Sloth was seconds away from bursting free of the canvas. His wings stretched out from one end to the other, and the man kneeling—the one who looked like him—seemed primed and ready to be taken. Like if that was his eternal punishment, he would kneel there willing and ready until time stopped.
