Red glows, burns from black corners, shifting shadows. He's a demon—eyes like darkness. Mothers hide their children away.

Green glows, burns from bright skies, open spaces. She needs her distance. She's an angel, white on auburn, hovering before the sun.

She cannot fathom why he hates to fly.

He cannot accept she'll never know his favorite sins.

"Mais, chère, y' know I love y'."

But girls named Rogue aren't taught to believe. "How much faith does an angel have?" she asks him.

He does not answer because life's a gambit, angels have no faith, and even the devils believe.