Page 198 of Burn Like An Angel

“I have something, but it’s rough,” he explains, placing the violin under his chin. “I’m not sure if it counts, but I wrote this for the anniversary of our first date, Rip.”

Sliding her arm around Lennox’s waist and kissing his cheek, Ripley perks up at her name. She immediately looks down tothe black chain bracelet she still wears, even though the tracker broke about five years ago.

“You remember the date?” She chuckles.

“Well, it’s a rough estimate.”

Raine lifts the bow, coaxing it over the violin strings with precision that will never fail to astound me for a man without sight. He plays like the instrument is an extension of himself—a living, breathing body part.

It’s a complex song, layered with low, mournful notes that sound like deep sorrow. Then he flicks the bow with masterful expertise and adds lighter segments, blending the two contrasts into a seamless melody.

Light. Dark.

Hopeful. Devastating.

All of life’s vast complexities.

Perhaps this is actually the most divisive opinion. Whether we can contain these multitudes at once. Hold evil and redemption inside us simultaneously. Strike with love and hatred in the same blow.

Raine’s music is honest. Raw. Painfully realistic. A jagged blend of the two extremes. Just like Ripley’s artwork. Both of them have immortalised our stories in their purest forms. Our voices will live on.

For many, we were the villains.

But we fucking deserve this happy ending.

The End

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