“Are you…are you a demon?” she asks, gulping.
“I am neither holy nor unholy,” I reply. “I am not a demon. A fallen angel is not quite the same thing as a demon.”
“B-but Satan is a fallen angel.”
“Fallen angels can become demons,” I say. “But there’s a certain embracing of the dark side, a true acceptance of evil as being just, that is necessary to transition fully. I have played the part since my fall, but I’ve never truly embraced it. It was an act of survival.”
Sazahn’s gaze drifts to my wings, to the flames that crackle out of the openings in my back. “Does the fire hurt?”
“Yes. It hurts me. But it won’t hurt you.”
“I can…touch them?”
“You may do anything you please.”
Swallowing, she reaches over my shoulder, then quickly draws her hand back.
“Did it burn?” I ask with a little smile.
She stares at her fingers, flexing them. “No.” She reaches out again, holding her hand in the small flames even longer. “Why doesn’t it hurt?”
“Because the flames are mine, and mine alone.”
Sazahn moves her hand to my feathers and trails her fingers over them. I can feel every single touch on every single feather down to the tips of my wings, and I suppress a shudder of pleasure as she strokes them.
“They’re so soft,” she says quietly. “I didn’t think they’d be so soft.” She glances up at me. “You can really fly?”
“I can fly.” I flap my wings, then reach for her hand. “Would you like to see?”
To my surprise, she nods after a long pause.
I gather her in my arms and flap my wings again, raising us into the air. Sazahn scrabbles to hold me closer, and I sense her heart rate rapidly increasing.
I chuckle into her hair. “I will never let you fall, Sazahn.”
I shift her into a bridal hold, and then I carry us over the ocean toward the sunset. Initially she’s tense, and her fear is palpable. But she gradually relaxes in my arms, and together we take in the majestic view of the sunset or sunrise—it doesn’t really matter here; directions and time are meaningless—over the ocean, turning each peak of waves into glittering diamonds.