The room held its breath. Magic clung faintly to the walls... dimming, dissolving. His outline still glowed, the last warmth of something expended. She stood near, not touching, the space between them steady and taut. Her gaze lingered on him. “He doesn’t know what a beautiful creature he is.” He met her eyes, something gentle stirring behind his stillness. “Like a butterfly,” he said. “You as well never see the beauty that I do, my sorceress. Your wings are far more beautiful.” She let a breath escape... half sigh, half softness. “Then let us be each other’s mirror, my love, so we don’t forget.” He shifted slightly, as though drawn toward her by something older than instinct. “There is no love purer than mine. Use me, if you have to.” Her fingers curled slightly at her sides. “I would sooner tear the heavens down than use you,” she said, her voice low, sure. “You’re not a weapon. I see the soul beneath the flame, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t matter.” He looked ...