"I think he made the right choice," Meg replied, a touch of melancholy to her voice. "If she'd stayed, she would have come to regret it and resent him for it. This way, she'll always love him, and he'll always love her, even if they aren't together." Meg felt herself teetering on the edge of a great realization, one that she desperately wanted to avoid. She had been avoiding it, as a matter of fact, for quite some time now. It was a fact that had occurred to her under Crowley's knife, but been locked away as an impossibility. An untouchable, unknowable thing. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected to ever see him again and, even after he'd rescued her, she'd still kept it locked away. She'd gone to her death knowing it was not something she would ever take out to inspect. Yet here she was, almost touching him, trying to put into words a concept that was completely foreign to her.
But was it? Was it so impossible for her? She was a demon, and the obvious answer should have been yes. And yet... Her shelves were covered with old movies, most of which were, in one way or another, a love story. Her tables were covered with gossip magazines that focused, almost entirely, on the love lives of famous people. Her book shelves were a mishmash of dime store romance novels, bodice rippers, and Jane Austin. Was it really such a strange concept for her to deal with...this feeling that she didn't want to name?
She looked up at him then, so close to her. She wouldn't reach out to touch him again. She'd already made that decision. "Don't you think it's better that way?"