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Summary
He’s in heaven. If nothing else, he’s now certain that he’s in heaven because there’s an angel in his sights, separated by glass, presumably so that Simon wouldn’t infect him with his humanity. The angel is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen: eyes as blue as what he imagined ice to look like, hair as yellow as a cornfield. Lips...the angel’s lips look to be as soft as the leaf he’d stolen from the tree of Eden, when he was but a child.
The angel’s stare is fixed on Simon, and he realises that this must be a test from God, because Simon is undeserving of the attention of a being as lovely as the one in front of him. The one looking at him as if he were the miracle.
Simon sleeps and dreams of rough, tanned hands with no red beneath the fingernails. They caress his face, soft and gentle, travelling up to his hair and suddenly he’s underwater, breathing in blood, dying as angels sing beneath the surface, their crooked smiles bringing him peace.
or, simon shows up on erid, vomits up blood, and grace fucks w it big time