What does Éloa mean?” He narrowed his gaze, answered her literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” Penelope tilted her head, thinking. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” “Was he a fallen angel?” “She was, yes.”...
I had a perfect life in my reach once, and it was a crashing bore. Perfect is too clean, too easy. I don't want perfect any more than I want to be perfect. I want imperfect.
It should all feel splendid. You tell me if it doesn't, and I shall rectify the situation.
