Perhaps it's the golden light engulfing her form that makes him fall in love with her. Maybe it's when her shirt is bloody and town that he realizes how beautiful she is. Her peroxide blonde hair is glowing and her warm brown eyes have finally lost their light. They're dull and empty but emit strength and power, and they're so, so cold they make him shiver. He's almost heartbroken. Not because her eyes are lifeless, but that it took them so long to do so. He'd been so certain she would break so soon, and he hates being wrong. He's certain she hates him, but he's forgotten that she has an eagerness to prove him wrong.

It's when her hand is reaching out to him, not out of longing or need but as an offering of a second chance, that he starts to think of her as god.

He stares at her shoulder, avoiding her cold eyes and hand of redemption. He's a coward and has never himself given anyone a second chance, so why should she accept what he has never offered? What was the old saying? The one about treating your neighbor as you would treat yourself? For once he's treating himself like he has his neighbor and he has not been kind. The god his mother would pray to every morning before breakfast would and should not forgive his trespasses, for he has trespassed so many. He doubts any god or righteous power would.

Especially the higher being standing before him now.

With a shake of his head her hand falls to her side and he feels like his freedom has been stripped away from him. The ability to run from the past he does not wish to face is gone. He should as well be dead, but he still feels his chest rising and lungs expanding with each breath. He should as well be paralyzed, but he's still standing with feeling still in his legs and feet. He's shocked that he has not yet crumpled to the floor, and he hates being shocked. Once again, that is something she always had an ambition to do.

He knows her face is still impassive, even if he is avoiding looking at it. He likes imagine though that her expression falters with some emotion though, even if it would most likely be disappointment. He watches her take a step back, no hesitation and no regret. Just a tantalizing slow pace as she makes her way to the door. She hasn't turned around, and is still watching him with stoic eyes. He wouldn't either, he wouldn't miss seeing the moment he finally caves. He wouldn't miss seeing the moment his sky shakes and falls on top of him. He wouldn't miss a single millisecond of this moment if he was her.

She finally leaves when he's buried beneath the ruble of years of regrets and pain and guilt, so much guilt.