Each day, as the sun rose, he wanted to sit and watch it; each night, when the sky turned indigo and the stars danced within it, he curled his arms around his legs and gazed up at the constellations, a million questions flitting through his mind. When he was young, all he wanted in life was to do these things, to be able to take his life slowly, not to spend his days cooped up in a factory or too tired from working to appreciate the beauty of the world. If this meant spending his days alone, that was fine with him. He was only glad that he had the opportunity to travel the world, to watch the sun rise over the mountains of Peru or to listen to the singing of Spanish dancers. This was his life, and he was content, happy even.
Until he saw her.
She was a painting, a lovely gorgeous artwork, the wind blowing strands of hair loose from her braid, her pale fingers twined, her eyes turned up to the sky, her voice sounding like a lark's – oh, he could live forever in that moment, that moment between nothing and everything. The moment, the sound, the image, the feeling, that changed his life, changed him more than any Peruvian sunrise ever had the power to.
Johanna, her name was, pretty little Johanna, and he bit his lip thinking that the angel had a name – proof that he did not imagine her, that he was not, in fact, dreaming. Angels could exist; now, if she'd only turn her gaze down from the sky to look upon him, his life would then perhaps be complete: if only, if only.
Within days they were together; by some chance, some lucky star, she found him just as enthralling as he found her. Perhaps it was that she hardly ever had left her tower, her confines, and he had traveled the world: she was starry-eyed when he spoke of ocean voyages, of the wonders of the far-off continents. Or perhaps it was truly a mutual infatuation; whatever it was, it was pure ecstasy, and to think they'd be married someday soon was a song that his heart could gladly sing.
He'd never fallen so quickly before, nor so hard, and had he stopped for a moment to think about what he was doing he would have been alarmed. This man, this hurried, absorbed man, this love-struck man, was hardly the person he thought he was, but it appeared he'd grown up overnight, grown into someone he didn't know he could be.
Well, whatever, and if it helped him take her, take her away from evil, then good: he would grow, he would change. And though he would never again spend his nights alone, watching sunsets or stargazing, that was fine with him: he would be with her.