He raised his hand that wasn't pinioning her wrist to the wall, and touched a curl of her hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers.
"Red," he said, his voice half-drowsy, "like sunset and blood and fire. Like the leading edge of a falling star, burning up as it touches the atmosphere. We are Morgensterns. The bright stars of the moring. The children of Lucifer, the most beautiful of all God's angels. We are so much lovelier when we fall."

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