Bentley lay propped up against the rotting wall, her clothing folded neatly beside her. Atticus adjusted the long bandages wrapped around her chest and stomach, tightening them at the ends. Blood was already starting to seep through the cloth, creating crimson splotches amidst the snowy white fabric. The angel kept his focus completely on the task at hand, avoiding touching her any more than necessary and keeping his eyes from wandering too much. Appearing as reserved as physically possible.
Of course, Bentley was far less courteous.
"How kind of thee," She said "To help thine enemy in such a trying time of need,"
"So I'm only your enemy when you aren't actively dying?" Atticus asked.
"No, I already told you that was just teasing." Bentley sat up a little, "I meant what I said before.
