1Syphira



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    Beatrice finds herself musing not over duty and sacrifice and God, but the truth of angels, if they can be created rather than summoned. If they can take the form of women with overeager mouths and careless limbs and eyes with a depth that beckons - a crooked finger, a spiral staircase - if they can be both human and not, both beautiful and terrifying.

    Ava asks, What do you want, Beatrice?

    (Tell me and I’ll give it to you. Tell me and I’ll build you a home there. Tell me and I’ll rearrange the universe to make it all fit, angels and demons be damned. Tell me it’s me. Me. Me.)

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    18,951
    Chapters:
    2/2
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    20 Dec 2022

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Everything I ever wanted in a WN fic.