Warmth. That was the first thing she was aware of. The soft linen of the sheets surrounding her were warm.
“Amélie?” came a voice from above her, soft as a feather. “Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes slowly, allowing colour to flood back into her black and white world. A woman stood in front of her, an arms length apart at most.
“Do you remember who I am?” asked the woman gently, moving gracefully to sit on the edge of the bed.
She shook her head in response. How could she feel so familiar yet so distant?
The woman nodded swiftly, but with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You are safe now, that is all that matters”.
She allowed the darkness to take her.
It was her first time out since she had arrived.
Angela had lead her to the watchtower, her delicate hand locked with her own. She felt her eyes widen in awe as they reached the top.
Colours splashed the horizon, deep reds and blues bleeding into purple as the sun sank below the waves. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Her gaze traveled to her companion, the light of the setting sun illuminating her tired blue eyes.
Her eyes lingered on the angel until long after the sky turned dark.
She rarely came down here, the ghosts of her past haunting the corridors.
Not the life she had, of happiness and love, but one of darkness and fire, tainted with the blood of innocents. It made her wonder why the cowboy would smile at her in passing, or the sniper would study her from across the room, a deep sadness in her gaze.
She didn’t deserve forgiveness, yet she stayed.
She could hear their voices now, laughter bouncing off the concrete walls. She could hear Angela, her soft voice ringing out like a melody in the wind, embracing her in a blanket of serenity.
It brought smile to her face as she turned and walked away.
Sometimes she had bad days.
Angela found her like that, tears cascading down her translucent skin.
“Why does it hurt so much?”
It was the first thing she had said since her arrival.
The angel was crouching besides her now, blue eyes searching for permission.
She accepted readily, falling into her warm embrace.
She loved the smell of ocean.
It brought a sense of calm upon her very soul. A promise of freedom, away from the shackles of her old life.
But she loved the smell of her more.
The way the scent of cinnamon followed her around after she had spent the morning baking pastries. Or the comfort of her perfume as she held her close in the dead of night.
Yes, that was her favorite smell.
Her kiss tasted of fire.
The way her smooth lips brushed against her own, an explosion of adoration and passion as hands touched delicate skin.
The way she found a way to love her, exiling every single demon within.
She tasted of hope, of acceptance and safety.
But most importantly, she tasted of home.