Arms wide and smiling, the flame warm and soothing and bearing all to she who accepts it;
what more, than this?
Is there more light to emanate from those golden... shimmering...

... coals, they call them, don't they...

Oh what a gleaming truth that fades to the bitterness of our every end.
But there must be faith here, she says.

The resonance of his voice is her flame and says yes.
But he does not hesitate to call his eyes black.

She once dreamt of fallen angels that had wings tucked inside fluttering souls.
Flight?
Less, less than this.
Ashamed. To ashes, she fears. And fades.