cupid clearly hates me.

[ 43 ]

The hot chocolate really did warm up your heart.

The fire was cackling. It seemed more alive than you ever had been, with its shadows dancing and its smoke curling in the air like it was reaching for something. The smell of it was comforting, too, like cooked wood and stale air. You could barely detect the home's natural stench (blood and fake cinnamon... you know the drill) over the fire. The hot chocolate smelled good, too. A white, toasty mug of marshmallow-scented goodness wafting straight up into your nose from the palms of your hands.

You took a breath and savored the smells. Savored everything. You leaned into Alastor, who had his arm around your shoulders.

"So, do you want to tell me about the person you 'might have killed'?"

You blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Alastor laughed. "The person in heaven. An angel, correct?"

Your heart skipped a beat. Quicker than a bolt of lightning, the appalled expression of Dr. Preston's face as you stabbed him in the shoulder flashed before your eyes, and remained there like an imprint of bright light seared into your retinas. "Uh.... how do you know about that?"

Alastor laughed a second time. You could feel his chest shivering underneath your cheek. "You mentioned it to me, my love. Remember?"

"Oh yeah."

Alastor squeezed your arm gently. Lovingly. "Tell me about it."

You didn't say anything for a moment, just watched as something in the fire popped and a shower of ashes sprayed out from it. They trickled down to the floor slowly, peacefully, like fallen angels.

"You really don't have to tell me anything," Alastor said, his tone changing. "If you're not comfortable with it."

"Oh, sorry," you mumbled with a half-hearted giggle. "I'll tell you about it. I was just... zoning out."

"Okay, darling."

You noted the sympathy in his tone.

So you told him—not just about you (possibly) killing Dr. Preston, but all about heaven. The relationship between the two doctors, the little girl, the meeting with the Council. He was silent for most of the time, giving only an occasional, thoughtful hum. When you got to the part about Mary bringing you back to hell in that weird glass bubble, you started to choke up, like a fist had clenched around your throat to keep you from talking. It was a feeling that, as of late, had become too familiar for comfort.

Just thinking about the bubble made your heart clench into a heavy sort of emotional ball. You didn't like the feeling, yet, somehow, part of you accepted it. What happened happened, but you had still found your way back in Alastor's arms.

"Thank you for telling me," Alastor said. After a moment's pause: "Are you alright?"

You nodded against his chest. Instead of responding, you simply took another sip of hot chocolate, careful not to spill it out of the side of your mouth. It was difficult.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," he said.

You stayed silent.

It was like the whole thing was all a dream, and you woke up feeling dazed.

Everything had felt like a dream, ever since you died. It was like your brain just kind of turned off. Like it had...

Died.

You sighed. Alastor rubbed his hand up and down your arm, and just the gesture made you feel better, knowing that he was trying to comfort you.

"What if I had stayed up there?" you wondered aloud with a cringe. "Like, what if Mary never tried to prove me wrong? What if she never brought me back here?"