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That fierceness pulsed from her now, sharpening her eyes, glowing on her face—and her cries were those of war, not of pain.
Jesus, This is how you write labor pains.
When sweat soaked through his shirt, he stripped it off, tossed it aside. Like Lana, he wore a chain, and he carried a medal bearing the image of Michael the Archangel.
Jesus the imagery. .
“Fallon. She’s Fallon. Born in the Year One. Conceived and saved by one man, delivered into the hands of another. I know she’ll honor them both. I know it.”
Oh my god the words. The words hurt my soul so damn bad. .
“Okay, let’s try this.” He gathered her up, and when she curled against his chest, rubbed her back. “Yeah, that’s better. That’s better. That’s my girl.” As he slept, Fallon watched him. Knew him.
Well lets just rip my heart out of my chest and stomp on it with all the CUTENESS!!!!
