Salvation’s Gotta Come

Luka

I know there are angels singing somewhere
I hope they sing for us

The Fountain is far busier than the hot springs in Halo, which paints a slight scowl on his handsome face. There is no repose or relaxation to be found here, only the hustle and bustle of citizens with jugs and cups who brush past him with pinched faces that turn away in light of his furrowed brows and broad shoulders.

Squeezing through to the wide rim of the fountain, he sits to secure his spot from any other vultures - and finds himself distracted by golden hair and carmine marks on fair skin. “That’s one large dog you pissed off,” he comments idly, leaning back on his hands and dipping one into the water behind him to partake in the region’s shining jewel. Given his family’s wolf obsession, the marks are unmistakeable. It’s useless to ask if she’s okay when she’s already midway through healing herself, so instead Luka raises a dark brow and slants a slight smirk her way. “Not the type for scars that tell a story?”

For our bruised mouths are an act of resistance
and our singing hearts, together, make a beautiful prayer