The warmth, though: golden light is chasing her, starting to wrap around her as if building a cocoon, and she can’t resist it, no matter how much she wants to. She kicks with whatever phantom limbs she has, tries to tear through the fabric, fight against the power of the angel; the golden ribbons sink glowing hope into her, force her tears to be swallowed into her stomach. She covers her face in her hands, drowning in that oh-so-familiar sensation of affection again, relieved despite herself.
I’m dumb. I can’t stop myself. I’ll always fall in love, because I love falling in love, and I love being loved. I couldn’t stop but smile at Whitefield, at Sera, at you. It doesn’t matter if it hurts. It doesn’t matter if I died for it. It doesn’t matter doesn’t matter don’t care.
If the world would just fall silent, and let me love.