If Gale hadnât been so sure that God was a fraud who had about as much bearing on fate as the caged angels whose wings now hung in a showroom did, he wouldâve thought that Lydia had survived thus far on the merit of Godâs good grace and Godâs good grace alone. As it were, however, he had no fucking clue how this small, stupidly sweet girl had managed not to die yet, for there was a childlike naivety about her that seemed to have stamped âEASY PREYâ on her forehead. ( Alastair would have a field day with this one. ) He wondered idly if her survival was owed to the watchful, protective eye of Adelaide Burke, that blonde to whom Lydia seemed to be permanently attached, or if maybe she was just a creature of excess luck. Whatever the reason, the girl was tremendously fortunate to still draw breath ( and there was a part of Gale, a very small smart, that was deeply satisfied and perhaps even a bit restored by the knowledge that fate had not yet struck down this stupidly sweet girl; that this girl had not been unjustly punished for her crime of sweetness as his sweet Petra had ).Â
He almost immediately regretted dropping Pryceâs name when Lydiaâs face twisted with sadness at the sound of it, fear casting shadows over the planes of her face. It was strange for Gale, for a black-winged beast, to regret anything, much less something as trivial and harmless as upsetting a human; but there he was, clenching his jaw with remorse and biting his tongue so as to prevent further foolishness from springing from it. He heaved a weary sigh at her next wordsâwords that all but confirmed his suspicion that sheâd be dead if not for her enormous lucky streak and Burkeâs protection. âThat kind of selflessness will get you killed, kid,â he told her matter-of-factly, his words absent of any ill intentions. âSelf-sacrifice and martyrdom are horribly foolish practices, you know.â He pressed his lips into a hard line, finding himself once more at the mercy of that nagging feeling of remorse. âBut admirable ones, too, I suppose,â he quickly ( begrudgingly ) added, finding himself incapable of squashing every stupidly sweet piece of this girl ( but not entirely resigned to the idea of squashing a few stupidly sweet parts of her if doing so meant giving her a better shot at survival ). It doesnât scare me to think about fighting for my friends. Howâwell, he wanted to say it was an incredibly stupid sentiment for a girl as small and human and weak as she was to have, but he could muster only admiration for her fearlessness when it came to protecting those she loved. She was frightened, yes, and he suspected that sheâd been frightened many a time since sheâd arrived to Paradise, but she was brave in spite of that frightâand that was a thing to be admired, surely. And thatâs not to say her bravery wouldnât get her killed, because he was sure it would, but if it was her willingness to protect her friends that finally removed this stupidly sweet girl from the realm of the living, her death would, at least, be honorable; it wouldnât be for naught.Â
She was observant enough to note that heâd been looking past the whipping post, that he was profoundly unsettled ( to put it lightly ) by Abelâs maltreatment, which, by consequence, meant she wasnât quite as stupid as her sweetness would have people think. And in the brief interludes between her words, when she wasnât speaking, her eyes burned with shrewd, active thought. Perhaps she was much smarter than heâd first perceived her to be. Smart or not, though, she was certainly, unquestionably endearing. He should have been disgruntled with her, shouldâve been irritated by her confessional apology, but he was instead wildly endeared by the way âIâm sorryâ poured from her lips in a panicked rush, as if she couldnât bear the burden of dishonesty for more than a few seconds. What a very human human.Â
That endearment, however, soon gave way to bewilderment. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he crossed his arms over his chest, head cocking to the side with plain curiosity. Who was this girl to try care for a demon about whom she knew absolutely nothing? For her, this small, weak-boned, breakable girl, to try to heal him, this depraved, black-winged torturerâit was⊠He didnât know; he couldnât put words to it. He was moved by her in a monumental way that left him speechlessâin a way that make him feel how he imagined Apolloâs priests felt when the sun gold descended from Olympus to pay homage to his acolytes: divine and humbled and celestial. He was much, much taller than her, but she was so steadfast in her quest to heal and to care that he couldnât help but feel small and powerless ( is this what being taken care of felt like? ). When heâd first met her, heâd thought her more human than any of the Paridisiansâthe most human human. Oh, but how wrong heâd been, for his human wasnât human at allâshe was angelic; never had he met a soul more deserving of a pair of white wings.Â
âIâŠâ he trailed off unceremoniously, still tremendously moved by this girl and far too confounded by what had just transpired to conjure any proper response. Clearing his throat, he fixed his eyes on hers, peering at her not with the demanding scrutiny of an interrogator, as was customary for him, but with plain sincerity. âThank you,â he muttered grufflyâand he left it at that, for he could offer her no more than his gratitude; he didnât know how to offer her anything else ( and he felt horribly inadequate because of this shortcoming ).Â
He looked past the girl before him to see a few of his fellow black-winged companions herding the humans, for it seemed that todayâs show was drawing to a close ( Lydiaâs talent for siphoning pain was so illustrious that sheâd seamlessly managed to pry his focus away from the whipping post and push thoughts of poor Abel to the less active chasms of his mind ). The humans would soon return to their side of the fence, and while Gale usually took great comfort in the absence of company and in the pleasure of solitude, he felt strangely uneasy at having to part ways with this stupidly sweet girl ( he told himself he was uneasy because Lydia would surely get herself killed without a well-intentioned demon around to stop her from doing stupid things like wringing her hands, but another part of him wondered if maybe her departure made him so uneasy because heâd gotten a taste of what it was like to be cared for again and didnât want to depart from that feeling so soon; because the nightmares had finally ceased, if only for a few moments, and he was loath to see them return ).Â
Her question about who he was snapped him back to bleak, bleak reality, and he heaved a tired sigh as he reached out to place his hand carefully beneath her elbow, positioning himself to guide her back to the other humans. âIâm someone whoâs going to be in a great deal of trouble if I keep you from returning to your side of the fence,â he told her. He looked at her pointedly, using his free hand to point a finger at her as chided, âNow, thereâll be no more hand-wringing, yes? And, generally speaking, Iâd advise you not to approach tense-looking demons.â He took a few steps toward the crowd of humans that had been gathered, his hand at her elbow, guiding her in the same direction. Once they were but a few feet away from the humans, he stopped, turned to face her, muttered his thanks once more, and began to walk back to the prison. He stopped mid-step, though, this odd feeling of self-reproach commanding him to go no further, for he still felt as though he was somehow shorting her; sheâd so generously given him so much and heâd given her nothing in return but a few mumbled words of gratitude. âGale,â he blurted out unthinkingly, obliging her prior question about who he was. âMy name is Gale. And, generally speaking, for future reference, I suppose itâd be alright if you approached meâbut Iâd limit your interaction with tense-looking demons to me and me alone.â There. That was suitable compensation, surelyâa pass to approach one of the least approachable demons that Hell had ever housed ( a pass to call on him for help if when she inevitably got herself into trouble ). His lips tilted upward just a tiny bit, good humor crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turned his back to her. âStay safe, kid,â he called over his shoulder as he began to walk back to the prison. Stay safe, you stupidly sweet kid.Â
Sheâd heard the words so many times she thought his lips might turn numb for speaking them, from how useless theyâd proven themselves to be in the end. It might have threatened to make her miserable, had Lydia not held an acute understanding of the motivations of those around her. Of how driven they were to see she come to no harm. Even if that meant they found themselves unable to trust her with that burden. Sheâd relinquished it already, of course, to Adelaide, to Stella, to so many others. But it still nagged at her, in the back of her mind, this belief that she could not protect herself. That she was out to commit acts of self-sacrifice. Maybe she was. Maybe it was her choice to make.
âThat makes me loyal and stupid, right?â she said, shrugging her shoulders. âIâd rather be that than be smart and leave my friends to die.â Lydia blinked a moment later, surprised heâd offered any kind words at all, though she shouldnât be. Sheâd known that, right from the start. That he was a good person. Worth saving, worth protecting. He called her admirable. It made her stand almost imperceptibly straighter, reassured, at ease. She could weather being called naive or unintelligent a thousand times if it meant she gained a reputation for being admirable.Â
This demon was quickly making her want to cry. The way his face nearly crumpled in confusion as he took in what she was saying, how sheâd been trying to look out for him. It didnât matter how old someone was -- they should always have someone to take care of them, to support them in their moment of need. Perhaps it was dangerously stupid to think that she could do it. But in the moment of bewilderment that crossed his face, she knew she couldnât stop. If she gave in even for a moment, he wouldnât believe her intent again. He didnât seem inclined to think he was a creature that should be protected.
It didnât matter to her whether he thought he should or could have it or not. Until someone stepped up to the plate, it was her official responsibility. She smiled, her hands wanting to give his a squeeze, or maybe give him a hug -- something small and comforting. Lydia lived her life in a series of touches, whether they were physical or whether it was merely someone that touched her heart. Since she couldnât, she did her best to show in words that she saw, clearly, how hard it seemed for him to accept. And that she would persevere anyway. âItâs not a problem,â she responded to his thanks, because it wasnât. âI want to help.â
Lydia hadnât noticed the end of the display, so well protected behind his broad shoulders as sheâd become. It was only when he noticed that she did, and she looked around, straining for a glimpse of anyone she could tag along with. Though she would have traded with Stella, that was an impossible goal, and she would rather not be caught in the prison for anything less. As the yard emptied out, she knew they may be more prone to scrutiny, but didnât quite manage to suppress her smile at his advice. âIâll try something less obvious next time,â she assured, knowing she wouldnât be able to stop her anxious movements if she tried, yet not wanting to worry him. âDonât worry. I think Iâm a great judge of character.â She leaned forward a moment, rocking on her heels. âAfter all, youâre a good person, and I donât regret it even a little bit.âÂ
She couldnât let him think heâd deter her, or sheâd never finagle another speaking opportunity from him. And in a moment, she wasnât disappointed. Gale. She filed him away in her mental T-Chart somewhere near Adelaide. A good person who is trying very hard to do good things. She walked back the way sheâd came, not looking over her shoulder, not letting worry take her just yet. How hard would it be, to be kind, surrounded by the worst kinds of people? Would it eat at him, round his shoulders into a slump, steal that surprised, brief glimpse of happiness sheâd managed to find? Lydia hoped not. She really, really hoped not.Â
