Chapter 17: Pure snow and dark fantasies
The morning light was clean and sharp, forgiving. Their footsteps were the first to break the smooth, perfect blanket of snow in the clearing, Clara laughing as she flopped onto her back to sweep her arms and legs wide, the cold immediately seeping through her layers. Ethan followed, his angel larger and messier, their wingtips nearly touching. Later, they sat perfectly still on a fallen log, his arm around her, sharing binoculars as a crimson cardinal cracked a seed against the bark, a brilliant shock of color against the monochrome world. That night, tangled in flannel sheets with a black-and-white movie murmuring on the laptop, she felt his breathing deepen and slow against her hair long before the final credits rolled.