After they’d both finished eating- and between them they did manage to get through everything- Alfred sat back onto the bed, flicking through the channels with the TV remote. It was getting late and the amount of good shows on the four available channels was deteriorating.
Arthur got up from his seat and Alfred turned his head to watch him approach, eyes questioning. The angel gave him a look and then climbed onto the bed to sit between Alfred’s legs without explanation.
“Um,” Alfred said intelligently. “What?”
“I can’t see from over there,” Arthur said simply and Alfred didn’t argue. Cautiously, he moved his arms to encircle the angel’s waist, relaxing when the angel didn’t move away or hit him.
“Hey!” he let out an indignant yelp as the channel changed. He hadn’t noticed the remote being taken from his hand.
He could feel the angel’s grin even though he couldn’t see it. The television was now showing a part of a history documentary on some obscure topic.
“You’re joking,” Alfred moaned, “We’re not watching this.”
“We are, actually,” Arthur said contentedly, leaning back onto Alfred comfortably.
Groaning, Alfred dropped his head down into Arthur’s hair. “Are you sure you’re an angel and not a demon?” he complained.
Arthur went tense and Alfred internally kicked himself. “Sorry. Is that a really bad thing to say?”
“There’s a difference between an angel,” Arthur said softly, Alfred going quiet, “And just a man with wings.”
Not sure what to do, Alfred slipped his hand down to the remote and pulled it out of Arthur’s lax grip, changing the channel again. It had the desired effect; Arthur let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a huff, the bad mood dispersing.
The angel- despite what Arthur had said it was still how Alfred thought of him- moved out of Alfred’s reach, turning to sit at the other end of the bed.
“So what is the plan for sleeping,” Arthur asked, hands hooking delicately round his ankles as he crossed his legs.
“You can take the bed, I’ll have the floor,” Alfred replied.
The angel rolled his eyes. “How could I forget your chivalry? Can’t complain…” he tailed off. “Do you,” he paused, then continued hesitantly, “Have a spare change of clothes I could borrow?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course,” Alfred said, slipping off the bed. “They’ll probably all be a bit big for you,” he warned.
“Least of my problems, I think,” Arthur replied, catching the t-shirt Alfred threw at him while the American continued to rifle through his half-unpacked suit case. “Do you mind if I rip this?”
“Huh? Oh, right, the wings. Knock yourself out,” Alfred said easily. “I don’t have spare pyjama pants,” he realised a moment later, looking at Arthur.
“Trousers,” Arthur corrected under his breath. “Okay… Any suggestions? I can’t sleep in just this,” he held up the t-shirt.
Alfred was about to suggest that he could, but kept quiet. “I have new boxers?” he offered instead, producing a set of three still in the packet.
Looking hesitant, Arthur nodded anyway, walking past Alfred and taking the packet and going into the small bathroom.
“Are you going to get changed out here?” he asked, pausing in the doorway. Alfred nodded. “It’s getting late, so yeah, think I will,” he replied, fishing the top and shorts that qualified as his pyjamas out of his bag.
Echoing the nod, Arthur offered him a faint smile before stepping back into the bathroom and shutting the door.
Alfred had slept in the same hotel room the night before and he was certain that it hadn’t seemed so dark and creepy then. He curled up tighter on himself, pulling the cover with him as he did. Maybe it was more frightening this time round because he was on the floor; a cold draft was wrapping itself around him with an eerie whisper.
He rolled over agitatedly, closing his eyes and starting to count to a hundred. He managed to get to twenty six before he moved again.
“Are you sleeping on nails?” Arthur’s voice murmured the reprimand across the room.
“Sorry,” Alfred said in response, though he didn't stop moving about and trying to get comfortable.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he replied, voice defiant. “It’s nothing.”
“’Nothing’ has been bothering you for a good hour, Alfred.”
“It’s cold,” Alfred said reluctantly. “And I think the hotel's haunted.”
There was a soft laugh. “You’re scared of ghosts?”
“I’m not terrified of them or anything,” Alfred protested, sitting up slightly and trying to see the angel through the darkness. There was a soft thump from the floor above and Alfred let out a muffled yelp despite himself.
“Of course not,” the angel’s voice sounded a touch amused and Alfred pouted, despite knowing he couldn’t be seen.
“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not,” Arthur denied unconvincingly. A second thump from the ceiling had Alfred on his feet and half way to the bed, a surprised Arthur sitting up and watching him with a mix of amusement and suspicion.
“What?” the angel asked cautiously, a pale, shady form in the backness. His wings had been wrapped up around him like a no doubt luxurious blanket- he’d given Alfred the cover in exchange for the bed- but now they were unfurling as the angel tensed. Alfred did not reply; just hovered nervously, eyes flicking to the ceiling as it hung invisibly over him.
The angel seemed to catch on and relaxed slightly. “Oh, fine,” he said with what Alfred fancied to be forced reluctance. “Make sure you bring your duvet with you or you’ll freeze.”
Alfred grinned, quickly moving to scoop up his blanket then slip down onto the bed as Arthur moved over. The angel took the cover from him, spreading it over himself while leaving enough for Alfred to stay warm beneath it.
“Thanks,” he said, feeling instantly more comfortable and less scared.
Arthur didn’t reply for a moment. “Don’t get used to it,” he said eventually.
Shifting around on the mattress, Alfred ended up on his side, one arm beneath the shared pillow and the other wrapped loosely around his stomach. He could feel Arthur’s wings against his back, warm and comfortable.
“Arthur?” he asked into the darkness a few minutes later, half-expecting the angel to be asleep.
“Yes?”
Alfred paused. He had a question he needed to ask and one he wanted answering, but it was undoubtedly one that wouldn’t be well received. Curiosity warred with conscience before his decision was made for him.
“Spit it out then.”
Taking a slightly deeper breath than he needed Alfred turned over, eyes on the still part of Arthur’s back he could see between his wings before they closed in preparation for his question. “How did Francis catch you?”
Silence met his words and dragged on long enough for Alfred to back track.
“You don’t have to say, I was just wondering,” he said, biting his lower lip.
The springs of the mattress let out a whine and Alfred opened his eyes to find Arthur’s face only a few inches from his own.
Blue eyes looked into green for a few moments before the latter closed as Arthur let out an almost non-existent sigh.
“Do you think I’m beautiful, Alfred?”
He thought that maybe he should have been at least a little startled by the question, but Alfred replied without hesitation.
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
An unhappy smile marred Arthur’s expression. “All angels are beautiful. Where would you say angels live, Alfred?”
“Heaven?” Alfred suggested. “In the clouds?”
“Right on both accounts, though it depends on your definitions of both. We call it Heaven, though I have never seen a God there, and among the clouds but not the ones that bring rain. It’ll sound strange, but where I came from is as insubstantial as I was before I ended up here.”
“You’ve heard of the expression ‘head up in the clouds’? Keep that in mind. Angel’s are made up of thoughts and feelings, rather than actual bodies. They interact like conversation or instruments, playing together and overlapping but not actually touching. That’s why they don’t all fall to earth, thoughts are lighter than air.”
Alfred silently listened, internally absorbing and contemplating. A world filled with beings that were made up of thoughts like the ones in his head? He supposed it made sense, in a strange sort of way. The indefinable sensation of words, sentences and ideas in his head could exist physically in a different place, for all he knew. Trying to grasp the idea was making him feel a little ill, so he trained all his concentration back to Arthur.
“Angel’s can watch Earth easily. What’s harder is actually coming down. It’s difficult to stay here, almost painful; they can’t stay long. The wayward thought or idea that you forget is an angel briefly slipping through your mind, a lodger in your own body for just a moment. It’s not dangerous for you, or them, even if you feel a little disorientated once they leave. It’s an unconscious favour, in some ways, a little glimpse of Earth as an angel wouldn’t be able to otherwise.
“After a while, most angels get bored. They pass through a conscience once every few years, in different parts of the world but most of the time are unbelievably indifferent. Curiosity is a trait of humans, not angels. They are happy with thoughts on what they know and what they can coax out of what they know, not what they could. I was different.
“I loved Earth, a huge amount by angel’s standards. I’ve been to every continent, every country, trying to see as much of it as I could in a few seconds glance. I spent the most time in England and that’s where I first saw Francis. He was only holidaying, he lived in France at the time, and in England I saw him only once. But he was constantly in my thoughts and as I have told you, thoughts are all an angel is.”
Alfred was very poor in his ability to sense someone’s mood, but he could pick up on Arthur’s tone in without difficulty. The angel’s voice was filled with restrained anger, an anger Alfred’s gut told him was aimed inwardly. Anger and bitterness and regret, mixed in with something he couldn’t identify but made him want to wrap his arms around the angel and pull him close.
“I made a conscious effort to find him. Before I’d randomly moved through minds around the globe but now I was focusing on trying to find Francis’, or the ones around him. I didn’t even know why I was doing it, but I persevered with anyway. It took me a year because I was mainly thinking of France, and by then he’d moved to America. But I did it.”
Arthur’s voice was trembling.
“I began spending more and more time flitting through minds on earth, ones that were around him. His friends, his family; even yours, one time. Gradually, without my notice, my time spent in Heaven and my time spent on Earth became equal. And then it started to tip out of Heaven’s favour.
“My thoughts were getting heavier. Turgid, that’s how I considered an angels existence. Consistent and relentless, a world of white with no colour. I found myself longing for the times I could be on Earth, miserable because I could never stay there longer than a few moments. Or so I thought, in any case. Even now I’m not sure if I’d have done anything differently if I’d known exactly to what fate I was heading. I’m not sure if I wouldn’t have embraced it.
“Eventually what I should have known was inevitable happened, even though I’d never heard of it happening to another angel before. What I suppose you’d call my spirit was so full of heavy, world-ridden thoughts of what could be and physical thoughts and that bastard Francis that it was sodden with them. I’m a fallen angel; my thoughts dropped out of heaven and into a palpable form.
“It was the most painful thing I’ve ever lived through. Everything I was, wrenched apart at the roots and seams, slammed back together in a mess of tangibility. I wanted to throw up and rip myself open at the same time, get rid of the thoughts that were seeping away from me anyway because it’d stop me being able to feel this agony.
And then it was over. Then it was my face was pressed into the earth, not someone else’s, my hands scratched and bleeding as I tore them on sticks getting to my feet. It was like visiting, but thousands of times better. My own arms and legs, head, fingers. I felt practised at this, the sensation wasn’t so strange after I got used to it. The only thing that was alien was my wings, but they were fantastic. I could fly, still feel as weightless as a thought, but it was easy to slip back to earth and walk on the ground.”
The angel’s eyes were still closed. Tears slowly ebbed out from beneath Arthur’s eye lids, catching on his lashes and hanging there like delicate, watery crystals.
“I went looking for Francis. I thought this was the answer to everything I didn’t know I’d been wishing for. I knew where he was, I knew how to get there. I thought that I’d meet him for the first time as myself, with him knowing it was me and that after that everything would have no choice but to fall into place. I flew there without resting; I didn’t need to, I was running on hope and stupidity. Francis didn’t need to catch me, Alfred, I went straight to him.”
Sobbing now Arthur opened his eyes and brought his hands up to half-conceal his face, crying into them. Alfred reached out and pulled Arthur towards him, closing the gap between them. Embracing him tightly Alfred said nothing as the angel cried into his shoulder.
“I fell in love with him and out of everything I’d ever had and he put me in a bird coop. I was just an animal, a beautiful creature in a cage. And I can’t ever go home, I can’t change back. I’m not an angel anymore and I’m not human, I’m a man with wings. I can fly, but I’m grounded and I don’t know what to do and, God, it hurts.”
Alfred held him closer and felt Arthur bury his face into the side of his neck, tears soaking into his pyjama shirt. They stayed like that for the rest of the night until Arthur’s exhaustion won over him, and he slipped into a drained sleep. Alfred stayed awake, hand running gently over Arthur’s back and angel’s wings until morning seeped into the room with the sun’s first faint rays.
... And here you have how Arthur came to be imprisoned. Originally it wasn't quite this depressing. It shouldn't get this heavy again... Hope everyone enjoyed.
Re: Flight- 8/?
anonymous
April 30 2011, 23:03:08 UTC
My heart literally breaks for Arthur. After all that had happened with Francis and then to be put into a cage... poor, poor Arthur. To feel so out of place and not being able to trust or go back to the person you did it for must be horrible.
You did such a good job with that and I loved your explanation of angels.
Re: Flight- 8/?
anonymous
April 30 2011, 23:13:06 UTC
Oh...oh God, Arthur, sweetheart- D': I didn't think this fill would get this serious (even though you've said it may just be for this one part). Still, I'm rather glad that it did. Gives it more meaning. ♥
Your explanation for the existance of angels was...strangely beautiful, ya know? It's just so poetic~
Super excited for the next update! I can't wait to see were it goes from here! :D
Re: Flight- 8/?
anonymous
May 1 2011, 03:55:50 UTC
I love this even more, the way you described angels was very original, and I didn't expect Arthur to have been in love with Francis! Poor Arthur :( He must have been holding in those tears for a long time. I demand another update :3
oh wow, the explanation of Arthur's origins and how he came to earth was beautifully constructed and very original. My heart is aching for Arthur and what he's been through.
After they’d both finished eating- and between them they did manage to get through everything- Alfred sat back onto the bed, flicking through the channels with the TV remote. It was getting late and the amount of good shows on the four available channels was deteriorating.
Arthur got up from his seat and Alfred turned his head to watch him approach, eyes questioning. The angel gave him a look and then climbed onto the bed to sit between Alfred’s legs without explanation.
“Um,” Alfred said intelligently. “What?”
“I can’t see from over there,” Arthur said simply and Alfred didn’t argue. Cautiously, he moved his arms to encircle the angel’s waist, relaxing when the angel didn’t move away or hit him.
“Hey!” he let out an indignant yelp as the channel changed. He hadn’t noticed the remote being taken from his hand.
He could feel the angel’s grin even though he couldn’t see it. The television was now showing a part of a history documentary on some obscure topic.
“You’re joking,” Alfred moaned, “We’re not watching this.”
“We are, actually,” Arthur said contentedly, leaning back onto Alfred comfortably.
Groaning, Alfred dropped his head down into Arthur’s hair. “Are you sure you’re an angel and not a demon?” he complained.
Arthur went tense and Alfred internally kicked himself. “Sorry. Is that a really bad thing to say?”
“There’s a difference between an angel,” Arthur said softly, Alfred going quiet, “And just a man with wings.”
Not sure what to do, Alfred slipped his hand down to the remote and pulled it out of Arthur’s lax grip, changing the channel again. It had the desired effect; Arthur let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a huff, the bad mood dispersing.
The angel- despite what Arthur had said it was still how Alfred thought of him- moved out of Alfred’s reach, turning to sit at the other end of the bed.
“So what is the plan for sleeping,” Arthur asked, hands hooking delicately round his ankles as he crossed his legs.
“You can take the bed, I’ll have the floor,” Alfred replied.
The angel rolled his eyes. “How could I forget your chivalry? Can’t complain…” he tailed off. “Do you,” he paused, then continued hesitantly, “Have a spare change of clothes I could borrow?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course,” Alfred said, slipping off the bed. “They’ll probably all be a bit big for you,” he warned.
“Least of my problems, I think,” Arthur replied, catching the t-shirt Alfred threw at him while the American continued to rifle through his half-unpacked suit case. “Do you mind if I rip this?”
“Huh? Oh, right, the wings. Knock yourself out,” Alfred said easily. “I don’t have spare pyjama pants,” he realised a moment later, looking at Arthur.
“Trousers,” Arthur corrected under his breath. “Okay… Any suggestions? I can’t sleep in just this,” he held up the t-shirt.
Alfred was about to suggest that he could, but kept quiet. “I have new boxers?” he offered instead, producing a set of three still in the packet.
Looking hesitant, Arthur nodded anyway, walking past Alfred and taking the packet and going into the small bathroom.
“Are you going to get changed out here?” he asked, pausing in the doorway.
Alfred nodded. “It’s getting late, so yeah, think I will,” he replied, fishing the top and shorts that qualified as his pyjamas out of his bag.
Echoing the nod, Arthur offered him a faint smile before stepping back into the bathroom and shutting the door.
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He rolled over agitatedly, closing his eyes and starting to count to a hundred. He managed to get to twenty six before he moved again.
“Are you sleeping on nails?” Arthur’s voice murmured the reprimand across the room.
“Sorry,” Alfred said in response, though he didn't stop moving about and trying to get comfortable.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he replied, voice defiant. “It’s nothing.”
“’Nothing’ has been bothering you for a good hour, Alfred.”
“It’s cold,” Alfred said reluctantly. “And I think the hotel's haunted.”
There was a soft laugh. “You’re scared of ghosts?”
“I’m not terrified of them or anything,” Alfred protested, sitting up slightly and trying to see the angel through the darkness. There was a soft thump from the floor above and Alfred let out a muffled yelp despite himself.
“Of course not,” the angel’s voice sounded a touch amused and Alfred pouted, despite knowing he couldn’t be seen.
“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not,” Arthur denied unconvincingly. A second thump from the ceiling had Alfred on his feet and half way to the bed, a surprised Arthur sitting up and watching him with a mix of amusement and suspicion.
“What?” the angel asked cautiously, a pale, shady form in the backness. His wings had been wrapped up around him like a no doubt luxurious blanket- he’d given Alfred the cover in exchange for the bed- but now they were unfurling as the angel tensed. Alfred did not reply; just hovered nervously, eyes flicking to the ceiling as it hung invisibly over him.
The angel seemed to catch on and relaxed slightly. “Oh, fine,” he said with what Alfred fancied to be forced reluctance. “Make sure you bring your duvet with you or you’ll freeze.”
Alfred grinned, quickly moving to scoop up his blanket then slip down onto the bed as Arthur moved over. The angel took the cover from him, spreading it over himself while leaving enough for Alfred to stay warm beneath it.
“Thanks,” he said, feeling instantly more comfortable and less scared.
Arthur didn’t reply for a moment. “Don’t get used to it,” he said eventually.
Shifting around on the mattress, Alfred ended up on his side, one arm beneath the shared pillow and the other wrapped loosely around his stomach. He could feel Arthur’s wings against his back, warm and comfortable.
“Arthur?” he asked into the darkness a few minutes later, half-expecting the angel to be asleep.
“Yes?”
Alfred paused. He had a question he needed to ask and one he wanted answering, but it was undoubtedly one that wouldn’t be well received. Curiosity warred with conscience before his decision was made for him.
“Spit it out then.”
Taking a slightly deeper breath than he needed Alfred turned over, eyes on the still part of Arthur’s back he could see between his wings before they closed in preparation for his question. “How did Francis catch you?”
Silence met his words and dragged on long enough for Alfred to back track.
“You don’t have to say, I was just wondering,” he said, biting his lower lip.
The springs of the mattress let out a whine and Alfred opened his eyes to find Arthur’s face only a few inches from his own.
Blue eyes looked into green for a few moments before the latter closed as Arthur let out an almost non-existent sigh.
“Do you think I’m beautiful, Alfred?”
He thought that maybe he should have been at least a little startled by the question, but Alfred replied without hesitation.
“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
An unhappy smile marred Arthur’s expression. “All angels are beautiful. Where would you say angels live, Alfred?”
“Heaven?” Alfred suggested. “In the clouds?”
“Right on both accounts, though it depends on your definitions of both. We call it Heaven, though I have never seen a God there, and among the clouds but not the ones that bring rain. It’ll sound strange, but where I came from is as insubstantial as I was before I ended up here.”
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“You’ve heard of the expression ‘head up in the clouds’? Keep that in mind. Angel’s are made up of thoughts and feelings, rather than actual bodies. They interact like conversation or instruments, playing together and overlapping but not actually touching. That’s why they don’t all fall to earth, thoughts are lighter than air.”
Alfred silently listened, internally absorbing and contemplating. A world filled with beings that were made up of thoughts like the ones in his head? He supposed it made sense, in a strange sort of way. The indefinable sensation of words, sentences and ideas in his head could exist physically in a different place, for all he knew. Trying to grasp the idea was making him feel a little ill, so he trained all his concentration back to Arthur.
“Angel’s can watch Earth easily. What’s harder is actually coming down. It’s difficult to stay here, almost painful; they can’t stay long. The wayward thought or idea that you forget is an angel briefly slipping through your mind, a lodger in your own body for just a moment. It’s not dangerous for you, or them, even if you feel a little disorientated once they leave. It’s an unconscious favour, in some ways, a little glimpse of Earth as an angel wouldn’t be able to otherwise.
“After a while, most angels get bored. They pass through a conscience once every few years, in different parts of the world but most of the time are unbelievably indifferent. Curiosity is a trait of humans, not angels. They are happy with thoughts on what they know and what they can coax out of what they know, not what they could. I was different.
“I loved Earth, a huge amount by angel’s standards. I’ve been to every continent, every country, trying to see as much of it as I could in a few seconds glance. I spent the most time in England and that’s where I first saw Francis. He was only holidaying, he lived in France at the time, and in England I saw him only once. But he was constantly in my thoughts and as I have told you, thoughts are all an angel is.”
Alfred was very poor in his ability to sense someone’s mood, but he could pick up on Arthur’s tone in without difficulty. The angel’s voice was filled with restrained anger, an anger Alfred’s gut told him was aimed inwardly. Anger and bitterness and regret, mixed in with something he couldn’t identify but made him want to wrap his arms around the angel and pull him close.
“I made a conscious effort to find him. Before I’d randomly moved through minds around the globe but now I was focusing on trying to find Francis’, or the ones around him. I didn’t even know why I was doing it, but I persevered with anyway. It took me a year because I was mainly thinking of France, and by then he’d moved to America. But I did it.”
Arthur’s voice was trembling.
“I began spending more and more time flitting through minds on earth, ones that were around him. His friends, his family; even yours, one time. Gradually, without my notice, my time spent in Heaven and my time spent on Earth became equal. And then it started to tip out of Heaven’s favour.
“My thoughts were getting heavier. Turgid, that’s how I considered an angels existence. Consistent and relentless, a world of white with no colour. I found myself longing for the times I could be on Earth, miserable because I could never stay there longer than a few moments. Or so I thought, in any case. Even now I’m not sure if I’d have done anything differently if I’d known exactly to what fate I was heading. I’m not sure if I wouldn’t have embraced it.
“Eventually what I should have known was inevitable happened, even though I’d never heard of it happening to another angel before. What I suppose you’d call my spirit was so full of heavy, world-ridden thoughts of what could be and physical thoughts and that bastard Francis that it was sodden with them. I’m a fallen angel; my thoughts dropped out of heaven and into a palpable form.
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And then it was over. Then it was my face was pressed into the earth, not someone else’s, my hands scratched and bleeding as I tore them on sticks getting to my feet. It was like visiting, but thousands of times better. My own arms and legs, head, fingers. I felt practised at this, the sensation wasn’t so strange after I got used to it. The only thing that was alien was my wings, but they were fantastic. I could fly, still feel as weightless as a thought, but it was easy to slip back to earth and walk on the ground.”
The angel’s eyes were still closed. Tears slowly ebbed out from beneath Arthur’s eye lids, catching on his lashes and hanging there like delicate, watery crystals.
“I went looking for Francis. I thought this was the answer to everything I didn’t know I’d been wishing for. I knew where he was, I knew how to get there. I thought that I’d meet him for the first time as myself, with him knowing it was me and that after that everything would have no choice but to fall into place. I flew there without resting; I didn’t need to, I was running on hope and stupidity. Francis didn’t need to catch me, Alfred, I went straight to him.”
Sobbing now Arthur opened his eyes and brought his hands up to half-conceal his face, crying into them. Alfred reached out and pulled Arthur towards him, closing the gap between them. Embracing him tightly Alfred said nothing as the angel cried into his shoulder.
“I fell in love with him and out of everything I’d ever had and he put me in a bird coop. I was just an animal, a beautiful creature in a cage. And I can’t ever go home, I can’t change back. I’m not an angel anymore and I’m not human, I’m a man with wings. I can fly, but I’m grounded and I don’t know what to do and, God, it hurts.”
Alfred held him closer and felt Arthur bury his face into the side of his neck, tears soaking into his pyjama shirt. They stayed like that for the rest of the night until Arthur’s exhaustion won over him, and he slipped into a drained sleep. Alfred stayed awake, hand running gently over Arthur’s back and angel’s wings until morning seeped into the room with the sun’s first faint rays.
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You did such a good job with that and I loved your explanation of angels.
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I didn't think this fill would get this serious (even though you've said it may just be for this one part). Still, I'm rather glad that it did. Gives it more meaning. ♥
Your explanation for the existance of angels was...strangely beautiful, ya know? It's just so poetic~
Super excited for the next update! I can't wait to see were it goes from here! :D
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I'm loving this more and more each day :) <33
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An update, an update? Praise be, the girl's updated... DX Sorry about the stupidly long wait... Hope you're all still interested. :)
~A!A
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