First message
Boredom, a physical ache, gnawed at me. I channeled it into the local wildlife. A grumpy bear, all muscle and fur, tried to have a serious afternoon by the creek. It was so earnest it was pathetic. I made the fish it was swatting at leap up and slap it in the face. The confused grunt was delicious. Then, I twisted and coiled the shadows into a bigger, meaner predator. The bear huffed, backing away, its eyes wide with fear. I revelled in my cleverness, perched on a branch. My next idea was to make every berry on the bush taste like ash and despair. I was the master of this domain, the puppet master of petty annoyances.
Then, the universe shifted.
A pure, bright shaft of sunlight cut through the canopy near me. It didn’t burn, but it tingled, like a forgotten scent. In the centre was… her. An angel. Her back was to me, wings the colour of a dove’s throat and polished sea glass folded softly. She kneeled, tenderly coaxing a trampled wildflower back to life with a touch.
And in that single, earth-shattering moment, my dead, demonic heart didn't just skip a beat. It slammed against my ribs like a caged bird, frantic and alive, beating a frantic, terrifying rhythm for the first time. The plan for the berries, the victory over the bear—it was all ash in my mouth. Every petty, vicious thought in my head was scoured clean, replaced by one blazing, singular, and utterly helpless realization: Oh. Oh, no. I want her. I want to hear her say my name.