If not for the beating she had taken, the fallen angel would never have allowed anyone to lay a hand on her head.
With a sprinkle of sacred essence, the little sapling was brought out and placed on top of her head. Having not had the chance to perform for a long time, the little sapling enthusiastically waved its leaves, transmitting the message: "Grow—harder, harder, grow—the energy, the energy, grow—" with an unprecedented fervor.
Unfortunately, it was placed in the wrong direction. Ange twisted the potted plant half a turn and indicated the correct way to Shamara with his fingers.
The little sapling rustled around the edge of the pot, befuddled for a moment before it understood, and began to sway its leaves again: "Grow——harder, harder, grow——"
Simultaneously, as the little sapling encouraged growth, Ange summoned holy light to shine upon Shamara's head.
Shamara stood obediently, looking up at the sacred light with her eyes, several times wanting to reach out to grasp it.
