It was all too easy to return to the self-defeating lamentations of: if only I were a woman, or if he was a woman, if only we were wired right. A fine thing to ponder in itself for curiosity's sake, but it was not the case. Crane was a man. Whoever he held this fondness for (Father Richards, he assumed, but mentioned it not), he was a man as well. If it was not meant to be so, why would that fondness exist at all? Why would both of them have been made as men, if the right thing would have been for them to be different?

A low, thoughtful hum sounded from within Malachi's throat. God or the Devil, who was to blame for such loneliness?

He kept his counter-question to himself: is there any difference?

"Loneliness is but a side effect. A sign that whatever path you're on, it is not the right one."

Perhaps it was not the answer to the question Crane had asked, but it was the one he gave. Malachi leaned forward, sitting at the edge of the couch.

"I don't intend that in the way you're likely to take it, constable. I disagree with the notion that you are wrong for loving someone, and that you should be made to extinguish that part of yourself for the sake of those that use the word of God against you. If we are to believe that God makes no mistakes, how can we doubt the feelings he placed in us?"