[She's a little surprised he's taking it so well. Most people...don't. Except for people like Dean, people who know that there's things bigger than himself - although Dean doesn't seem to care about that.]
I can't even make noises that aren't vocalizations. Like sighs. Or sniffles. I can't even play the flute anymore.
[She expresses everything through music, and math, and perfect numbers and whole notes, so it takes her a moment to translate that sensation in her head.]
It's like hearing music but feeling love. You can feel the whole of creation and how it slots together perfectly, and...I don't know. It's hard to describe. I've been trying to recreate the sensation for two years now.
[He nods again, and doesn't say anything for a long minute. Finally, he huffs a sigh and pushes a hand through his hair.]
I'm sorry. I'm not . . . I believe you, I truly do, it's just-- difficult for me. I've a hard enough time with my own existence, let alone with a higher being. To have stark proof that one exists, even in just one world-- it's difficult.
He'd sympathize. And then he would go to kiss me, and he would think, no, wait, is this her, or is it God, God is in this body, there's something else here, and he wouldn't
[She erases that and tries not to think of Adam, who found out, and refused to touch her after. Her touch (no, His touch, His), once, restored his sight, for a few minutes. And he saw her and told her she was beautiful but he couldn't, it changed things.
She didn't even like him all that much, but he made her feel real, in those moments after she lost her voice. He told her it was because he couldn't see anymore]
I . . . can't promise that won't happen. But if you asked me, I'd tell you that no, no it wouldn't happen like that.
[He stretches out his arm. It's covered in scars, little and large, white and savagely applied.]
Most people won't even touch a werewolf, as if they might catch the disease by proximity. But Sirius has never worried about that. We've shared beds; he's fallen asleep on top of me. He grabs me and wrestles me and after the full moon is over he gets my clothes and carries me back to a bed. He . . . he doesn't care about that sort of thing. And I truly don't think he'd stop liking you because of this.
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