[ Don't worry, it does! ^^; And this post is full of incredibly weird syntaxes and adjective combinations and.. lmao I don't even know, I'm rambling so bad but I feel like it's coming out like.. I mean.. "thoughtful ears".. come on. :| what am I writing. ]

Maybe it was not his fault that the world had been harsh to Brisa, but it was the kind of illogical injustice that made him seethe, blood chilling with the darkness in his veins; on one hand, he believed no one deserved misery. And on the other, he had often doled it out himself, separating lovers, ruthlessly dictating how the lives of others would be.. a sobering thought, yet another nail hammered into the coffin of his past and secrets. I'm different now something in him whispered stubbornly, I know how to value life despite its differences, and in the sunlight, that was easy to believe. But whatever his internal struggle, in the light, the angel's bright wings blotted out its shadow the carrion crow, and the only thing existing was his strange, deeply rooted anger at the unjustified injustices of the world.

"Time does," he agreed quietly, thinking of snowy vistas far to the north and cold, bitter nights with the taste of blood in his mouth and filling up his nose with its scent.. and of how deep despair, shame and guilt can be—and how far away they were now, those emotions. Some were closer than others, but not for the same reasons, not anymore. With emphasis on "most" things he added to himself, unwilling to say it aloud; with every word Brisa said, she suddenly seemed more and more fragile, and the last thing he wanted was to cloud the bright light she clung to, the hope of a better future. It could come to her, if she tried hard enough, and to try she needed faith and strength, and if he gave her doubts—told her that no matter how much time passed, some things would never heal—would she still have faith and strength? Or would she crumble in the face of such cruel hopelessness?

He didn't want to know. Didn't want to try and find out. Wasn't that cruel in the sunlight.

Somehow he'd expected a lull in the conversation, for the rhythm of their walk to silence their tongues—he was going along at a languid pace, slower now that they were fixed in the eye of warmth—but the sound of her voice broke his budding reverie before his mind had the chance to carry him away on the currents of thought and sunlight.

It was a tale he didn't know if he was worthy of listening to, if he ought to be trusted with fragments of what others had been through, but at the same time he was deathly curious of all things and drank her words up with thoughtful ears. She spoke of loss of life and the gaining of some semblance of strength, enough strength to break away, and try to end up somewhere new, somewhere better—and if his notion was anything to go by, she had. Helovia was far from perfect, not even a flawed paradise because paradise it was not, but it was a better place than others. He'd been around a bit, in the outside world. He'd often pondered his kinship to this corner of the planet, but never found any real answer.

"No, Brisa. You are no stupid." He didn't have the time to wonder why she would think that, fleetingly assuming it was because she had enough bad experiences to last her a lifetime as his mind mulled over her story. When he spoke again, it was in a soft, thoughtful voice, wanting to help her make sense of it but hesitant to assume too much. "Perhaps the child's death made you understand that death is not what we should want from life.. whether you knew it or not at the time? And in that, I expect some part of us would find the strength to break away, and go somewhere else.. to eventually, dare to dream..." His eyes wandered to the sky, to the faint wisps of clouds and the birds playing in the air; soon, they would turn south, away from the winter and snow. Absently he added, "Maybe you made yourself survive, so you one day could carry another child, to raise and love," as you yourself were not.