From bittersweet to unhappy. May tend towards dark, but tolerably so: misery, not death.
Itís February in Central. Thereís nothing better to do.
He would come to understand later that what she meant was, Iím stronger than you.
Inevitably, within five minutes of the door shutting, he has me wanting to put my automail in his face.
He had started to wonder if it was Edward or himself that was farther out of reach at the moment.
Here, in this place where eyes were all but useless, hearing could be confounded with the sensation of touch.
I could sleep here, soundly, knowing that I followed in his footsteps, lay in the same beds, held the same forks and glasses, and spoke with the same people he had protected.
Falling back into the sun-warmed grass, Al smiled to the skies, offered them his hopes and dreams on a gilded platter of golden eyes.
Staring, he couldn't tell the difference aside the eyes, aside from the cloudy sunlight of his hair, just a whisper darker than his beloved's.
I didn't understand that, didn't comprehend why being clean for going into the earth was a good thing until much later...