if DEMONS have no place in this world, then HYBRIDS certainly don’t. she shelves the book, a crease deep in her brow as she stares at the peeling letters on the spine. ‘ THE HOLY BIBLE. ‘ and yet, it only made her feel more distant from the god who was supposed to care for all of his creatures. it was thoughts like this that most reminded her of how she had changed from her childhood, from the little girl who had trusted absolute in DIVINITY. now she is older, wiser, if not more broken.
her apartment has changed little in the years she has lived here, only rotating food and occasionally clothes. her fingertips brush familiar counter tops, memorizing the few small scratches, the feeling of the cool seeping into her bones. all of this, familiar, though her time here must soon draw to a close. she has lingered almost too long, and cannot risk arousing suspicion among her neighbors. ALWAYS MOVING, another curse of her heritage.
and yet, there are also some small benefits, loathe as she is to admit it. one of those is relationships forged through MILLENNIUM. raphael. she knows his presence without turning, the instant identification easy, despite the time stretching between their last visit.
“ you came back. “
“ as I said I would. ” a drawn out absence, much longer than he’d expected, this time. always being pulled between two planes of existence ; ( HEAVEN & EARTH. ) though---- if he’s being frank, he much prefers the latter. it’s a refuge, he’s resigned himself to, in the company of his love. their relationship forged through hardships, but she gives him the peace he craves. he’d always find her, no matter where she moves, across thousands of miles, he’ll always find his way back to HER.
“ DEAR NIKITA, you should know by now that my return is but an eventuality. You’ve been keeping well, I should hope? ” there’s a fondness in his tone, remiss of the many months to have slipped by. that which bled together into seasons, abated by her awaiting presence. for she waited, waited through the gaps of time stretched between them, loyaly for his return. it does not abade the guilt, but months mean nothing to two immortal beings --- mere sands of time slipping through an ever trickling hour glass.
