It was freezing, and she'd stolen the blanket, again. I sit up in bed, about to take part of it back, but then I see her. Of course I'd seen her before, but it was rare when I really had the chance to just watch her. She wouldn't have it, waking.

She has more peace in sleep than she ever did waking. There were no worries prematurely lining her face, just peace. She had a mystical look to her, like a fairy. An angel. A firey Green Angel of the Rebellion, working for peace and rightousness with violence and terror.

Yet I love her. Her brains, her heart, her lack of cowardice. She had more of all three than she realized. Souless Angel, working for a world that shuns her.

But then, there's me. A stupid, heartless, coward, compared to her, anyway.

I suspose I'm biased. She wasn't perfect. She ranted, and raved, and obsessed. She loved to bicked like an old married couple.

She didn't think she was beautiful, but I can't see that as I watch her. Green skin pearly in the moonlight. Ebony hair loose, fanning out under her head. In sleep, she'd curled close to me.

She opens her eyes then, sleepy dark brown. She gives a little smile, and mutters, "My hero," and is lost again to sleep. My Angel.