09-15-2016, 05:13 PM
Pain is a strange thing now – not a death warrant, no snapped bones; merely something idly consequential. Scraped skin where it once might have torn completely, bruises where he might once have broken. Strength is a strange and glorious thing, and he has reveled in it, in feeling solidity grow in his limbs, his body.
He is no longer a glass house begging for stones. Now, he is a stone himself, slick and hard. A possible weapons. Now, he is glorious.
And Adaline, well--
She is beyond glorious in her solidity – beautiful, yes, but she has always been beautiful. No, what it is now is the life of her, the vibrancy, the rich sheen of her coat and the fullness of her body. He no longer looks at her with a swelling sense of dread, the knowledge of her fraigility at the forefront of his mind – no, now those thoughts fall away, and he merely looks at her.
And god, she’s lovely. A prayer, answered.
“I can’t believe it,” he says, and the words are thick with unshed tears – ones of happiness, stinging at his eyes, “you’re whole. We’re whole.”
He grins, bright, solid.
“I’ll race you.”
He takes off running.
contagion
be careful making wishes in the dark
this is too happy we must think of ways to hurt them