the flames erupted from your shoulder blades. or at least, from the cauterized gashes that split them open. from the place that wings once were. you let out a scream of agony, then a heaving sob. "i'm sorry," you said.
"i know," she replied, and held your hand tight.
you squeezed back. you bit your lip. you felt the strange, unfamiliar sensation of tears on your face. you felt them boil away in the heat. you spasmed. you felt it coming. you knew it was coming, again. your spine arched, and another gout burst forth from your back. "i'm sorry!"
"i still know," she said, and placed a hand on the top of your shoulder, a few inches above the nearest gash. "i get it. but you don't owe me an apology—" you went to speak, but she cut you off with another squeeze, "—and the one you do owe one too, already knows that you are."
you break, again. in a new way. you are learning new ways to break all the time now. you drop from all fours down onto your side, laying on the small cot.
"i am— i really am— i didn't mean to—"
"she knows. right now, just focus on moving through this, okay?" gentle, but firm.
"how can i?" you ask, body shaking. you can still see the burns in your mind's eyes—fresh and red. you weren't used to seeing the burns. you didn't even know angels could burn. there were so many things you were learning.
"you have to. and you can. remember that," she said.
you pursed your lips & furrowed your brow and then there were flames. there were flames again.
"i can't! i can't!" you repeat, over and over. "i— i w-want to but i—"
she cupped your cheek in her hands.
"you can. you want to, and you can." you sob. she smiles, softly. you cry.
finally, painfully, all too slowly, you feel it. they begin to crawl through the gashes, spindly and unsure of themselves, like the legs of a deer only just born. the feathers are small, and wet. they are nothing like the feathers you knew. nothing is like how you knew it.
"good," she says, and smiles again. "good, let it happen."
you whimper. you feel them flex. you feel the smallest spread, the minute imitation of what you once were. your light pours forth from the gaps between the feathers and your sister shields her eyes.
you can barely get it out. you are so stunned. you are so exhausted. you are so tired of trying. "i'm sorr—"
"don't. please. for both of us, ok? it's ok."
"it's not—"
"it's going to be ok," she says forcefully. your budding wings twitch. you cry, and nod.
it continues like this. it is never fast. it is never easy. eventually, she runs a hand down your back, passing near to the base of those nervous new wings.
"good," she says. "this is a good place to start. it should be easier now."
you don't want it to be easier. you don't want to have to do it. you don't want to do it at all.
"i don't—"
she doesn't interrupt you. you cut yourself off. there is a time to let it free & there is a time to understand that when you speak, you are the first person to hear it.
"i know," she says, one last time. "but you did. and you will."
"it doesn't make everything better," you say, as if you have to tell her.
"it doesn't," she acknowledged, "but that's not what anyone's asking of you. can you focus on that for a moment?"
you can hear it coming. you brace.
"you can do it," she says. "it'll get easier if you do. your sister will heal. there is nothing you need to do now. nothing asked of you. can you try that, until that changes?"
you aren't good at nothing. you want to be the change. but this isn't about what you want.
at least, not entirely.
NEVER/END
