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Her sight is foggy, her mind is weak. She is surrounded by machines, beeping and breathing by her sides: monitoring, stalking. But they cannot read her thoughts. A man enters: tall, solemn, but familiar and bright. He is quiet and tinged with the memory of sweetness. Delicately placing his feet, gliding toward her with worried yet knowing eyes, he slips to her bedside, gazing at her carefully with silent sighs.

"Qui etes-vous?" she whispers. No answer, only sparkling irises tracking every movement of her face.
"Qui etes-vous?" her voice stronger now, the vibration aggrivates her throat. "Un ange? Venez pour prendre mon âme ailleurs?" His breathing is bold. She finds a flicker, a twitch by his lips. She remembers now. Soft, begging. Stealing her breath as words disappear into a haze of--

His hand grazes hers. He rolls his fingers around her arm, following the trail of her skin, past her shoulder, to the side of her neck. And then he rests, barely stroking her jaw with his thumb. Despite her frequent blinks, their eyes haven't dared to part. But now, slowly, inhaling with confidence, she tumbles back into the empty blackness that encapsulates her. He'll have to wait. He can't be a thief just yet.



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