After what felt like hours upon hours of endless sobbing, I drifted into sleep in her arms, still holding onto her as though the world might shatter if I let go—because it would. My world would crumble completely without this. I still struggle to believe I deserve this kind of care, especially from someone as divine as her, but a small part of me has started to trust her. That small part nuzzles into her touch, leaning closer, letting her warmth seep into my core.

  She doesn’t mind my tossing and turning in my sleep, right? I can only imagine the mess I’ve made, kicking her or filing about unconsciously. Oh, if you’re wondering, yes, I’ve been awake for a while now. But I haven’t pulled away—and I don’t intend to. I want to stay like this.

  I squeeze her tighter and nuzzle my head into her chest like a cat seeking comfort. She responds with a gentle squeeze of her own, her hand returning to stroke my hair with a steady, soothing rhythm, all in her slumber.

  Yes, I’m being clingy, I am aware of that. Let me have this, okay? I’ve never felt anything like this before—this kind of human touch, this sense of safety. Sure, technically there’s been physical contact in my life, but most of it came from my father beating the shit out of me. That doesn’t count, does it?

  Pretty sad when you think about it. Actually, no, let’s not think about it. Not right now. Right now, I just want to sink into this moment, to feel, for once, that someone cares.

  I can’t help but steal gnces at her resting face. She seems so peaceful—no, she is peace itself, the embodiment of calm in this hell. Yeah, I know, cheesy words—but she is an angel, so it’s not all fancy words. Even the eyes dotting her wing are ‘asleep,’ their lids closed in perfect harmony with her serene expression. Her wing wrapped around us both, cocooning me in its soft, warm embrace. Part of it drapes over my body like a natural bnket, fluffy and soft.

  A soft giggle slips out before I can stop it. “What the hell did I do to deserve this…” I mutter under my breath, grinning to myself like an idiot and quiet enough as to not disturb the sleeping angel.

  Taking a deep breath, my mind wanders away, drifting off as I enjoyed this moment. Yesterday was hazy, to put it lightly. Like trying to remember a dream once you woke up. Everything wenr by like a blur, all details seemingly vanishing from my head, as if my body refuses to remember. It makes sense why it won’t want to, it was hellish, it felt like every inch of space wants to torment me into eternal anguish. Unforgiving of my actions.

  Might be my worse breakdown I’ve to date, my past life… I always had the time to decompose and let feelings trample over me, it drained me of all emotion, leaving me numb enough to function.

  Yes, it was an ineffective way of processing emotions, but it gets the job done. Draining them out of my body, allowing myself to feel other things, and I can loathe myself in the process, killing two birds with one stone, as they say.

  Not that I know any better way. Change terrifies me. The thought of moving away from what I’m used to, no matter how destructive, is… paralyzing.

  ‘Even now… I stay being a coward.’

  The thought surfaces with a tint of agony, painting a tiny smear to the heart as a dull pain starts to spread. Instinctively, my hand wraps tighter around the angel’s shoulders, pulling myself closer to her, an effort to anchor my sanity from crumbling further. It works, albeit slightly.

  My feelings wages a war with one another, each one seemingly gambling to overthrow the other, each tossing a coin to see which is stronger.

  Comfort seeps into me, soothing the frayed edges of my mind and body. Her warmth, her presence, it’s everything I need to feel human again.

  But guilt lingers in the shadows. I’m using her—treating her like a tool, something to cling to just to keep myself sane. That thought pairs itself with the ever-present weight of worthlessness.

  Receiving such noble gestures, such selfless help, feels… wrong. It feels like something I shouldn’t have access to, something I don’t deserve, a privilege meant for someone better.

  ‘This isn’t for you,’ a voice rings out within my mind.

  Tears start to paint the corner of my eyes, my vision growing gssy, blurry. The angel’s form distorts, fractured by the tears flowing. I’m losing her, her image slipping away with every drop. Perhaps… perhaps that’s for the best.

  ‘Truly, I don’t deserve this.’

  I really don’t, do I? No. Definitely not.

  “I told you, no thinking.” The angel’s words jolted me awake, pulling me back from the depths of my mind. Everything seems to settles down the moment her voice crosses me, fading into a quiet submission. It’s as if her words forced the cshing feelings to call a truce, all agreeing to sit tight and leave me in peace—at least for now. Along her words, it was accompanied by a flick to the forehead, which hurts, a lot.

  “Ouch…” I mutter, rubbing the sore spot with a pout. It actually stings more than I expected.

  “You didn’t listen,” she says, her tone as bnk and calm as undisturbed snow. “Today is your day off. No thinking for you.” Her eyes narrow slightly, carrying the weight of quiet disappointment.

  For a moment, I feel the familiar pull of my thoughts, ‘Why can’t I follow a simple order like that?’ but her words—firm and scolding—keep me anchored. Her gaze sharpens further, possibly knowing that I’m ready to spiral again. That is more than enough to keep me from slipping. I swallow hard and respond with a silent nod, unsure if I’m more embarrassed or grateful.

  “Good,” she says simply. Sitting upright, her wing pulls away from my side, leaving an unexpected emptiness where its warmth once was. I feel… lonely without it, though I can’t bring myself to say so. She stretches her joints with a casual grace, letting out a soft yawn that feels strangely human despite her divinity.

  “The dagger and the pendant is at top shelf of the closet.” She gestures to a nearby corner, where an old and weathered closet looms. The wood is dipidated, with scratch marks all over. “Change into something more normal,” she adds, her tone ft but firm. “Just leave that robe of yours hanging there.”

  “Alright…” I mutter another single word response. I can’t quite find the confidence I usually have—at least the kind I had while venturing through the other realm. Back there, I could crack jokes while dying, wield a dagger like a maniac, scream and grin as I demolish through the horrors.

  Here, I’m reduced to… myself. My usual, old self. The one who wallows in self-loathing, always questioning what she even is. A pretty sad contrast, don’t you think?

  A sudden fp of a wing wakes me up from my thoughts, it’s the angel. I hadn’t even realized she slipped away from the bed, it seems like her wing need some movement going. “Stay until I call you out,” she commands, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Y-Yes…” Yet another single word response, although this time at least it is accompanied by a shiver running down my spine. I want to ask her, ‘Where are you going?’ but I decide against it, that’d be rude. I guess I’m afraid to leave her side, I need to have self control on that, work for my own dependence.

  “…Good. I will take my leave now.”

  Was she… hesitant? Or am I imagining things? For a fleeting moment, her voice carries a faint mencholic tone, soft and almost sorrowful. But I’m unreliable; I might just be deluding myself, hearing what isn’t there.

  ***

  After about fifteen minutes, her voice rings out, sharp and commanding. “Come, mortal.”

  As imposing as ever, her tone snaps me out of my haze. Yes, I skipped over my inner monologue for the st quarter hour—it was a mess of random, jumbled thoughts that would probably make anyone feel like they were tripping on something crazy. Not that I know what that’s like. Don’t do drugs, kids… wait, I’m technically still a kid too. Well, a teenager, but you get the point.

  Focus. Right. I should just go to her. Can’t keep her waiting. “Coming!” I shout, hoping my voice carries far enough. I push through the door and venture into the hallway beyond.

  Immediately I’m spped with a problem: where exactly am I supposed to go? The pce is a maze, with multiple hallways stretching in different directions. I could call out for help, but… no, I can’t bring myself to do that. She’s already done so much for me; my gut twists at the thought of burdening her more.

  Think Sera, think—even though the angel explicitly told me not to. By the sound of her voice, I think it’s coming from… here? I take the left path and walk on, hoping for the best.

  Honestly, how did I even make it to the guest room earlier? In the state I was in, my sense of direction must’ve been nonexistent. I suppose I’m just lucky. Speaking of luck, I’m happy to report that this path seems to be the right one. No branching hallways, just a single straight stretch leading somewhere. Yay me!

  As I approach the end of the hallway, my heart unexpectedly starts to race. I didn’t really think about what she’d be doing or what she’d want from me, but now… curiosity is taking over.

  The hallway opens into a… kitchen? Of course, everything here is carved out of stone—the stovetop, the table, the chairs. A full kitchen made of cold, gray rock. But what catches my attention immediately is the table.

  It’s covered with food.

  Not just a little—a lot. Ptes filled with vegetables, the same slurry as yesterday, and bread. For some, it may not be the fanciest spread, but it’s more than enough to make my throat tighten and my eyes well up. She did all of this, for me? The vegetables are unfamiliar, maybe strange even. Their shapes and colors different from anything I’ve known, but they’re unique.

  “Took you long enough. Now sit tight and eat.” I obey her command, sitting on the chair across from her. She narrows her eyes disappointingly as I do so, I avoid eye contact with her, not knowing what I exactly did wrong. “You didn’t change your clothes,” she says softly, her tone carrying an unexpected hint of genuine hurt.

  “Ah, s-sorry…” I stammer, my stomach sinking. Another task failed—such a simple one, too. How can—

  “Fine,” she cuts me off. “It’s okay. Just eat. Remember. Day. Off.” She pauses deliberately, emphasizing the st two words that leaves no room for argument.

  I start eating, grabbing a piece of bread, some vegetables, and a scoop of the slurry. There’s no cutlery on the table, so I guess we’re eating with our hands—or, in my case, hand. I piece everything together: a bit of bread, a vegetable that looks like asparagus, and a dollop of slurry. Making sure to get all the elements in one bite, I take a chomp.

  ‘It’s warm…’ Not in the literal sense, no. Some of the ingredients has already gone cold, but… it feels warming to the heart. The taste, the texture—it’s all so simple, yet so profoundly comforting. The tears welling up in my eyes? Yeah, they’re flowing like a river now.

  Through my gssy eyes, I see the angel with a faint curve that touched her lips—more acknowledgment than joy—but her eyes held a rare flicker of light.

  “Welcome home, mortal.”

  ***

  Zenovia