7.3

 

She shook her head. “No. The become the angel is the ultimate goal, but one that can never be completed, for what is an angel if not perfect by definition? The problem is that we begin by being human, so the goal becomes unattainable.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “So, it’s a Catch-22? You continually stive for a goal that’s impossible to achieve because you’re striving for it from a flawed beginning?”

“Exactly. If we’re fragments of a perfect being, then recognition is not about being seen whole. It is about being seen in pieces and still being named."

Paul’s eyes glistened, though whether from the lights outside or something deeper was unclear. "And perhaps that is the true transformation: not wings, not light, but the courage to be seen incomplete."

The frost outside thickened until the window was nearly opaque. The world beyond was gone, erased by white. Inside, the candle flickered one last time before extinguishing, leaving them in shadow. Yet the shadow was not empty. It was layered, alive, as though something unseen had entered the room.

Roisin nodded, excited to reach a potential conclusion. "Yes. And perhaps recognition is not given by others, but by ourselves. To see the angel in our own fracture, and to accept it."

He reached for the door handle but paused in the act of opening it. “It’s possible there’s an alternative conclusion.”

“Yes?” Her eyebrows raised, anticipating a new direction. “Which is?”

Paul wrinkled his nose, his breath exhaling in a snort. “That all this is bollocks, and an angel is just a mythical being we invented to pin our mortality on?”

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