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    Summary

    Sunday did not have the energy to move, or look, or close his eyes for that matter. Wood’s gentle skin caressed his, whispering praises. Sunday couldn’t properly discern anything, nor did he want to. The elder spoke with love, and Sunday would hear it only faintly. The question ‘do you feel THEIR gaze?’…

    did he?

    his lips twitched, yearning desperately to answer as soft skin came and left his shoulders. He could see THEM, hear THEM, feel THEM. All that came out of his mouth was a feeble breath.

    It came and left, he could feel it. His shoulders, his back, his arms, his face, his lips. His chest rose and sunk as he breathed, in and out, in and out, and as Sunday faded out of consciousness, he could feel THEIR warmth fill him. It burned ever so hot, but so did he. 

    _____________

    OR
    _____________

    The theory that Sunday’s wings got chopped off, and a direct recounting from his experience

    (This turned out so shit AUUGHHHHH)

    Language:
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