WHERE LIGHT MEETS DARK
But faith is an ephemeral quality. It is a candle lit in a storm of untrammelled air, waiting to be extinguished the moment there is darkness within.
She slept better that night than she had in months. No darkness quiet. No sudden heat flash, no clatter of high heels thrumming in her bones. Only quiet. Terrible, holy quiet. And when she awoke, the sun was already bright in the windows, warm and gentle. Her body was leaden, but not with fear—simply with being human.