If ever he had witnessed the falling of an angel, it was in this very moment.
Such epiphanies were rendered pitted and lined with the taste of apocalypse, remnants of death and decay and the rot of all society grinning its toothless smile in the face of all beauty and purity. And yet the firmament divided, the breach birth of a woman came to be.
Drowned of all ethereal dawning, she was merely ragged, torn, a derelict wraith of light which was first misleading. And then, enthralling, until at last, when he looked upon her, he unearthed this shard of heaven. She imparted this seed of beauty to him, endeavored to cleanse the torrid void exhumed by machine, but the destruction of human, of earthly existence.
Immortality was expected of him, if survival was to be harbored not only in fleeting memories, but the throttling vision of a future. Strength, immunity to the poisoning fathoms of death itself, to cheat the unfortunate hands of sickness and hunger, exhaustion and hopelessness which dismantled all to mere fractured ruins of a man. A woman, beneath the crushing reality of this godforsaken earth, shattered, and the pieces were left to burn. Left to meld, and mold and disintegrate into grains of precious sand.
The graceful frailty of ghost-like finery was foreign to him as the breath of solitude, as transitory as comfort in dreams. Dreams which wove over their wearied heads oaths of delicacy and respite, but the omnipresence of death's trickery severed the strands.
Crushed into deserted time, he dared to hope for nothing but the will to carry on. Tendrils of prayer for subsistence lingered like saccharine anguish upon his parted mouth, and he yearned –for strength, for beauty. For an angel.
Hands stained with russet nestled deeper into the pallor his own, and the contrast deemed his skin a gleaming pearl, edged with ashes and the grime of nomadic drifting. His transfixed reverie broke from the contact of reality, breaching the wide, soft reaches of liquid warmth within Star's little twinkling, threaded eyes. Her hands began shifting the dormant helms of stories – tales of youth and loss and wonder.
But this tale, she told of angels. Earthen angels, dusted in powders of smoke and ash and fear. Shadows of earthly doubt, so trivial in age and subservient to the will of celestial magnificence. And still she remained, manacled to her flesh-founded prison. Willing to trade her halos and feathers and star-festooned harps for the trials and tribulations of humanity.
Look, Kyle…it's a angel. See her?
Star's hands drooped into her lap.
Kyle picked up the unraveled design of her silent narrative, and the strands of his ending took on a life of their own as the dark-haired woman began to succumb to the sensation of being watched. Of being subjugated to inquiring, liquid eyes. She smiled then and Kyle was so sure…no hesitance could negate the certainty he held.
He held no shadow of doubt behind his secretive mind that he had seen a shard of heaven in the woman's smile.
I see her too, Star. I see the angel too.
Author's Notes: I have not yet contemplated the exact length of this story. It may be fleeting, it may be long. I hope you will take pleasure from reading it, as I have not yet found a story in which Kyle and Blair are romantically involved. Please do me the honor of providing your feedback; it will assist me greatly in altering mistakes, and allow me to know if you are at all interested in reading future installments.
Thank you, and I appreciate all reviews and for your taking the time away from your day to read my fiction.