Wings To The World

9.

'Is that all to Love?' 

We had started a routine of visiting Tanael. Her memory had started warming, but not enough for it to thaw. She still didn't remember our wings, or her own, or the auras. She didn't remember a single thing to do with us ourselves.

I'd taken to trying to visualise the sparks. I would hold my hand out and will every single thing I felt below my rib into the space where I am reaching. Sometimes, I saw a flicker. It wasn't much, but it was there. 

"Hey," Saraiel called from her bed, head buried in her book. "You remember those people we were making?"

"You mean the ones based on Sailor's?" I ask, hand falling to my side. No use focusing on both the spark and Saraiel. One of those will always have my attention sooner or later, and it isn't the spark.

"Yeah," she hums. "What happened to them?"

I remember back to the day I sat outside with Naphalie and listened to her hum. Here's empty static in my mind as I remember the way I sat next to her. I had been working on them then.

"I don't know," I reply, my skin tingling with faint burns. I shake to try and get the feeling off of me. "They should still be there, in the workshop."

"Yeah, might be," Saraiel shuts her book. She looks so damn pretty in this light. The tip of an afternoon turning to an evening dusts her cheeks and nose. Her lips rosy in the light, her eyes trailed with a thousand constellations. "We should send a memo back, shouldn't we?"

I shrug. "Don't know," I say, leaning back and watching the way the light dances on her. "Don't exactly care." 

Oh, and I don't. I don't know I could ever care about anything other than the masterpiece in front of me. Ions of human life on this planet and nothing can come close to the beauty of this human. 

Saraiel chuckles. It's like a harmony of a thousand angels in my ear. "Me neither, but," she pauses to set her book down. "We should, you know."

I stretch out. "Yeah," I sigh, but I'm not focused on what I'm agreeing too. I want to see this angel in the full glory of the evening light. "I'll get on it. Do you know where Isael and Haphaes are?"

"They were at a store, last I remember," Saraiel shrugs. "Meeting with Tanael on their own?"

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and get up, pulling on my own Doc Martins. For having style, humans also had good (and durable) footwear to go with it. Doc Martins were good for around the workshop, too. We would often drop things that were sharp or leave shards and dust of stars around, and that hurt.

If they got into your foot or into you at all, it hurt. Most of the time it was your foot. Shoes like Docs make it difficult for that same dust to get into your foot because of the build.

But we were generally not very messy with those kinds of things, so it was more fashion than practical.

And it's nice to be a little vain, it's nice to feel like I look good enough to be surrounding myself with beauty. That's nice because for a long time I hated it.

I believed that my image was unchangeable. I believed that I was ugly, and that was it, and no amount of makeup or clothes would change that. I felt guilty looking into mirrors and smiling. Selfish for liking my lips' shape, or the shade of my eyes- because that was vain, wasn't it?

But it's nice now. In the past few weeks, Saraiel and I have been shopping (most for meetup's sake) and I've started to put effort into my appearance. I've looked in mirrors more than ever before.