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..” She slumped, leaning against the wall like Stacey had leaned on the bus window. “Simon’s so self-conscious. He made me promise to keep things quiet, at least for now.”“Well.” Stacey dipped her eyes downward for a significant moment, at the messy bed and Mercedes’ barely-covered body. “Cat’s pretty far out of the bag now. So, spill it: what letter?”A blushing smile spread over Mercedes’ face. “First week of school, he slipped me a letter. Said he’d been working up the courage all summer, and ... he wrote a poem asking me out. I just had to after that.” She held up a hand to forestall her. “No you can’t see the poem, he made me pinky-promise that.”“Come oooon,” Stacey said. “Can you at least give me some of it? A line or two?”Mercedes blew a raspberry. “Okay, okay. Part of it, um... ‘Hair like chestnut, you look so good. Eyes like mahogany, you give me wood.’”Stacey broke into giggles. “Oh my god. That is so bad.”Mercedes scowled like Stacey insulted her writing. “Yes, but he wrote. Her wings spread open. Her fate sealed. The fallen diligent in their devotion and service to Belial, assured that each maiden put forth in Azraels path was more beautiful than the next. But Azreal’s artistry grew more apparent with each marble Angel. The marble became more obedient to his mind, existing between shadow and truth and the beauty within. His marble Angel’s would not reflect a dead soul touched by darkness. The maidens would instead be bound by love, their marble fingers reaching out gently to those who beheld her. The Angel of Death took great pride in his work making the time to visit all of his creations. To the marble Angel who had been coveted by her first winter, Azrael unburied her from the leaves and dirt. He traced the delicate curves of her marble wings while admiring his workmanship. The graveyard vines that had risen over her feet had grown tiny white flowers that lived through the dead of winter when she could not. Never would she become a pile of bones.
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