Emma held the light of dawn within the palm of her hand. Turning it, this way and another she separated the ball into two, allowing it to infuse both her hands and down into her arms. She believed in God, but where was He when we were hurting?
She was more spirit now, than bones and skin, and yet she was hurting all over. The light continued its warmth through her and questions faded, while grey pain morphed into blue. A blue from the sky?
It was only beginning, this journey. The blood of Palermo would fade, and she realized she was being made new every morning. Wings began to thicken, becoming more than barely visible membranes. It was impossible to tell who she would be later this year.
She sighed looking out over the foothills, just north of Milan….searching, yet at peace.