Chapter Text

Prologue

No matter what people have told you, well-meaning adults or professors, fairies are real. Real as me. Real as you. (Magic is real too, but we can argue the finer points of that another day.) Fairies are real, though they prefer to be called by the more elegant name of Fae. They walk around, eat, sleep, talk, shop, run errands and enjoy mindless tasks, just like humans do. You could have walked past one a dozen times and never even noticed.

This story is about a certain Fae by the name of Flins. If I tell you more than that, it’ll spoil the story. Suffice it to say that this is about Flins the Fae, the unexpected things that happened in his life, and how he handled it.

And before you go and accuse me of making all of this up, everything you’re about to read really happened. This isn’t a work of fiction. (A dreadful word, fiction. I call it the pernicious f-word.)

I know this account to be purely true and factual because a little birdie told me. An actual and eloquent little birdie. More of us might hear what the birds and the trees are saying if we truly listened. Magic is still here, and all around us. Sometimes you just have to give it a little nudge.

But I digress. This is a true story, told exactly how I heard it– from a little birdie.

Chapter Text

Wherein Flins Finds Something New

Flins stirred awake, caught in that fragile state of existence that lies between dreaming and waking. Already, the visions he had seen while his eyes were closed were fading faster than he could try to remember them. But he didn’t need to. His dreams were always the same, filled with scenes of the far distant past. Memories of golden lands, trees with branches that stretched up into the heavens, and magic. Magic in the ground, the air, the water, wherever one looked. Back then, even humans could wield magic. Powerful enough to create life.

He remembered the day of his creation, when the Fae were born, magical spirits pieced together and given form from the scattered bones of ancient beasts. But that was a long time ago, and those civilizations were long gone. The creators were scattered, until they died out entirely, while their creations lived on, eternal and unchanging. The bitter irony of it all.

The world had been torn down and rebuilt over and over and over again, each time losing a bit of that old magic that once permeated it entirely, until now, hardly any remained. As a Fae, Flins could still sense the small pockets of magic that lingered, however scarce they were. A dull human could never, though.

Flins checked the time. It was around 6am. A respectable time to wake up and face the day. He got out of bed, rubbing his eyes, slowly remembering the facts of this current life he had created for himself. The problem with living countless lifetimes of borrowed names and identities was that it was sometimes hard to keep the story straight. What was it this time around? Ah, right. A college student, and a rather average one at that. A history major, who dabbled slightly in archeology. In the past, he’d tried living more extravagant lives: an artist, a musician, even a politician once. Slowly, he stopped caring so much. Too much effort. Now, he appreciated the invisibility and obscurity afforded by his current identity. The world went on just as easily without him, while he struggled every day not to give up on the world.

He clutched at the small lantern he wore around his neck. The lantern. An old relic from his past. To humans, it was just an interesting necklace. But to Flins? It was his sanctuary– and prison. If existence became too meaningless, life too boring and cruelly endless, he needed only to retreat within his lantern and slumber the pain of existence away for a time. Maybe a few decades, maybe a few centuries. And when he woke up, the world might be different, different enough to keep the emptiness of a long life at bay.

But today was not the day to retreat. Today, his heart thrummed painfully with hope. Hope, that perhaps, today could hold something new. Something that he hadn’t already experienced under the harsh sun.

He dressed himself with more care than usual, inspecting his work in the mirror. A tall, lanky young man stood there, swallowed up in a black wool turtleneck, with dark shaggy hair and dull eyes. Not exactly the ruggedly handsome type. More like the type people would see walk by and whisper sympathetically to their friend, “He could look nice if he tried.”

He touched the mirror, willing it to show himself, his true self, and not this shabby human disguise. Someone peered back at him, someone who looked far more like a noble gentleman than the scruffy college student from before. His hair was dark blue and long, subtly shifting into shimmering silver at the ends. His pale, yellow eyes seemed to carry both life and death within, sometimes dulled by the weight of a long life, other times shining with the radiance of rebirth. If a human were to see this form of his, they’d probably say he was a fairytale prince, and they’d be mostly right.

He sighed and looked away as the vision faded. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. There was no one who knew his true self, no one who could see him for who he really was. When the world was dark and wild and dangerous, he took pride in being a light in the long night, leading lost humans home like a guardian angel, protecting them from evil. But now? The world was sterile and cold, a well-oiled machine that churned on endlessly. The world did not need magic anymore, and by extension, it did not need him. One without a purpose– that’s who Flins had become. He could feel the weight of the lantern around his neck, softly beckoning him to surrender to the call of endless and blank nothingness, into the arms of blissful nihility.

I refuse.

He had been alone so long he couldn’t tell if he spoke it aloud or in his head. But regardless, the sentiment was the same: he would not succumb to the lantern, not yet.

He gathered some books, shoving them into a backpack that he slung over his shoulder, and left his apartment. Through the narrow hallway, down the steep steps, out the door and into the street. The crisp autumn air hit his face, clearing away the thoughts he’d mulled over for centuries. He looked around. The world had changed, but it was still beautiful. The trees raised their arms in one final display of flaming glory before surrendering their covering to the coming winter winds. The birds sang, the year-rounders, that is, not their frivolous and colorful neighbors who fled at the first sign of frost. Flins appreciated these loyal locals, the ones who remained come hell or high water. They were a bit like him in that way.

He got a coffee and sat down on a bench in an empty park. It was either too early, or people were too busy to notice it at all with any interest. There he sat, waiting, waiting, waiting, like he always had, and for what?

He didn’t know.

He checked the time on his phone. That place would be opening soon. He stood up and plodded on, footsteps retracing a familiar path, a pilgrimage to his favorite haunt, Myths and Mothballs Book Shop.

Ran by an old retired couple, who either lacked the acumen or desire to turn it into a thriving business, it felt more like a secret library, filled with overstuffed leather chairs and tables. It was the perfect place to sit and study unbothered, surrounded by books like old friends. Not many customers came in and out, and not many books were sold. But the couple didn’t seem to mind.

He stepped inside, ignoring the small chime of the bell that announced his entrance. It didn’t smell like mothballs, thank goodness. He never did have the heart to tell the old couple that perhaps the eccentric name kept away potential customers.

Head down, he walked silently like a ghost towards the chair in the back of the store. His chair. Not because he had the right to claim it as his own, but solely because no one else used it, tucked away as it was in the corner.

He sat, taking out a few textbooks and a notebook from his backpack, laying them out on the table in front of him. He read and he fussed over lines of ancient text and near-forgotten history, searching for any clues of the existence of other beings like him. Until he heard it. That new thing he’d been waiting for, that he dared to hope would come across his path one day.

It was a new voice from behind the counter.

Now, he was accustomed to the voices of John and Mary, the old couple. Many times he had heard Mary call out shrilly, “John? John! JOHN!” from the counter to the near-deaf old man shuffling with boxes in the back room, louder and louder, until frustrated, she stomped away after him.

This was far different. This was a voice that was clear and calm, pleasant and dulcet in tone.

“Come again!” it said to a customer completed and happy with their purchase.

He turned his head and braved a curious look, and that’s when he saw her.

Her being the new face behind the counter. She was closing the register, dark brown hair sweeping over her shoulders. She had large round glasses that kept sliding down her nose, requiring her to push them up with her hand every now and then. Her eyes were gray and soft.

These were a lot of small details to notice at a first glance, and Flins realized that this would be what humans called “staring.” He jerked his head away quickly. She couldn’t possibly have noticed him watching her all the way over here. Hopefully.

His thoughts weren’t on stale history books anymore. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but there was some indescribable pull drawing him towards her. Now he was formulating an idea of how to introduce himself to the new employee. The easiest way, of course, would be to buy a book. So he packed up his books back into his backpack, snatched the first book within reach and marched towards the counter, like a knight on a fated quest.

He approached her, head racing, heart pounding, unaware that he was frowning from anxiety.

“I’d like to buy this,” he hammered out coldly.

She turned to face him, ignoring his chilly demeanor. “Of course!” She took the book from him and scanned it, then wrapped it up in brown paper and placed it in a bag. “Your total is $12.95”

He took out his wallet and paid for the book on auto pilot.

“Would you like your receipt?” she asked.

Normally, he would’ve said no, leaving it for the cashier to throw away. But he surprised himself. “Sure, I like to keep them. For records, and stuff.”

He cringed at the sound of his own voice and words. For records? Who keeps records in the 21^st century?

She dutifully folded the receipt in half and placed it in the bag, sliding it towards him on the counter. “There you are. Have a lovely day!”

Flins paused, trying to come up with an excuse to delay the end of this little interaction. He could ask her a question, maybe. Say something witty or clever. Charming, even. Surely over the course of his long life he had learned how to talk to a woman. Right?

Not quite. Unable to think of anything more interesting to say, Flins squeaked out a comically abrupt question: “You’re new here?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I just started working here. Part-time.”

He listened to her words, leaning into them like she just shared the deepest secret of the universe with him. “That’s why I haven’t seen you around before then.”

There was a silence. An awkward silence. Long enough that Flins could tell she was about to say something to save them from the awkwardness. But he beat her to it.

“What’s your name?” he heard himself blurt out.

If she was taken aback by the suddenness of his question, she didn’t show it.“It’s Hero.”

He mused on her name. “Hero? That’s–”

“A weird name, I know,” she interrupted quickly, like she was used to having to explain herself.

He smiled ever so slightly, shaking his head. “I was going to say that it was like Hero from Shakespeare.”

She seemed pleased that he was well-read enough to know that, and Flins felt like he had just redeemed himself in her eyes. Best for him to end the encounter on a high note before he ruined it.

He grabbed the bag off the counter. “I’ll head off now. Thanks for the book.”

“See you around. Oh, and one more thing.” She lowered her voice, like one does when confessing a secret. “It can be hard, learning how to communicate.” Her eyes flicked towards the bag in his hand and smiled at him encouragingly. “But realizing that it’s something you can grow in is the first step to improvement.”

Communication? Improvement? He mumbled a quick “See you” and turned on his heel, out of the bookshop, head spinning. The bell chimed again, as if mocking him for running out like a dog with its tail between its legs. What had her last comment meant? She must have been referencing the book he just purchased from her, but in all honesty, he hadn’t even spared a moment’s glance to check the title.

He rushed home, eager to uncover this mystery. He raced up the steps into his apartment, sat down on his bed, and tore open the wrapper to the book he bought. His eyes quickly scanned the title, and he groaned, covering his face with his hands. The Fine Art of Small Talk rested on his bed, laughing at him.

Chapter Text

Wherein Flins Returns To an Old Place Seeking a New Face

Nearly two weeks had passed since Flins’ first encounter with Hero. He had busied himself with classes and papers and tests. And maybe he still was a bit too embarrassed to face her again. He had thought about her a lot in that time–far more than one would usually think of a practical stranger.

He was walking home in the late afternoon when he happened to put his hands in his pockets and find the receipt left over from that fateful day. He took it as a sign. Without further consideration, he changed course, headed towards dusty old Myths and Mothballs.

He reached the fine establishment and opened the door, that same out-of-tune chime ringing. (Actually, even though he’d been there countless times, he still got the door wrong and pushed it unsuccessfully once or twice before remembering that it was a pull kind of door.)

He walked in. Glanced towards the counter. It was empty. That meant no one witnessed his faux pas with the door. He headed straight towards his usual spot, that quiet corner that was always his and his alone, like it was made for him.

Not at the moment, however. Hero was there, restocking and organizing the shelves around his chair. He briefly agonized over what to do before finally resolving to greet her like a normal person would and take a seat.

And that’s exactly what he did. He slowly walked towards his chair, steps purposefully heavy so she would hear him and not think he was trying to sneak up on her. She turned around, immediately recognizing him. Smiling with the type of smile someone who works in customer service would use.

“Hi again.”

He bobbed his head, an attempt at a greeting. “Hey. Mind if I sit here?”

She shrugged. “Why not?

“I don’t know. Just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t bother you.”

She shook her head with a smile, a real one this time, not that fake one for customers. “Not at all.”

She went back to working on the shelves. Flins sat down, laying his books out in front of him, doing his best to look studious and undistracted. But he was distracted, dreadfully so.

He couldn’t help but feel her presence as she worked around him. The air seemed charged with an electrical current that set his pulse quickening. Distant and far-off memories resurfaced in his mind as if they happened yesterday, of a world that was older, greener, and imbued with wonder.

Wait a second, that sounded a lot like magic.

He shyly peeked at her through the corners of his eyes. Magic. That must be it. That would explain the strange pull she had on him, that magnetic affect he could feel and recognize.

This world was once full of all sorts of magical creatures, and it wouldn’t be too preposterous for another one to have survived to this day, just like he had.

He saw her as more than the new face behind the counter. Now, she was a potential ally, someone who could see and understand him for what he truly was, who could hear his story and say, “I know what that feels like, too.”

But he was getting ahead of himself. He could be totally wrong in his analysis of her. Especially when the only supposed evidence he had of her being not quite human was that she felt  different.

Hero finished her task, dusting her hands off. The bookstore was empty, like usual. With nothing left to do, she took a seat in the chair opposite to his, looking down at his books scattered on the table.

“History, how interesting,” she muttered.

“Not really. Just a lot of facts about a bunch of dead people and forgotten places.”

She laughed at his cynical description of the subject he was majoring in before moving the conversation elsewhere. “You know, you never told me your name.”

He stiffened. She was still talking to him, and she wanted to know his name? Perhaps he was reading a bit too much into it, but that meant he hadn’t totally ruined his chances of getting to know her. He set his book aside, signaling that he was willing to take the time to talk with her.

“It’s Kyryll. Kyryll Flins. But most people just call me Flins.” He added that last part more as an afterthought.

“Kyryll Flins…” She repeated, testing the name out. “It’s nice. Especially Kyryll. Not that Flins is bad,” she continued hastily, “it’s just Kyryll is really different.” She paused, feeling silly for expressing her opinion so freely about a stranger’s name. “Good different.”

Flins didn’t say anything. He usually didn’t share his full name with anyone, but this girl had him dropping all guards like it was nothing.

He finally remembered to say thanks, which he croaked out like a child being forced to. She looked away. Maybe she wasn’t so impervious to the awkwardness of small talk like he initially thought.

A minute went by, then two, then three, until neither of them was conscious anymore to the time elapsed. They sat in semi-comfortable silence: Flins, scouring the pages of his book like his life depended on it, and Hero, eyes lazily drifting across the titles on the spines of the books around her.

She broke the silence. “Why don’t you share what you’re reading? It’s better than sitting here bored.”

Flins nearly pinched himself. “Uh, sure. If that’s what you really want.”

“It is,” she said, settling more into her chair, resting her chin in her hands.

Flins picked up his textbook and began to read. Word after word, line after line, until he reached the end of the chapter. He peeked a glance at her to see if she was still listening. She was. And looking directly at him. Their eyes met for a second and both turned away, suddenly interested in some object near them– Flins, studying the scuff on the arm of his chair like it was a relic at an archaeological dig site, and Hero, inspecting her fingers and twirling the odd assortment of rings she wore on them.

Flins cleared his throat and continued on to the next chapter. He had a rich, soothing voice as he read, capable of making even the driest history textbook interesting. He started to panic as he neared the end. How was he going to keep her here with him without boring her to death? He determined to bite the bullet and try to sustain a conversation with her.

He finished the second chapter, still holding the book in his hands like a prop, pretending to be only half interested in the question he was about to ask.

“Do you work here every Tuesday?” he probed. “Just curious, is all.” Just curious. Believable. Real believable, Flins.

“Mhm. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those are the days I don’t have class.”

He didn’t explain why he was curious, and she didn’t pry. He knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew she knew, but they both kept up a polite mask of being unaware of either one’s true intentions.

Flins made a mental note to stop by every Tuesday and Thursday. Because it was convenient for his schedule, of course, and a good place to get some reading done.

He didn’t go back to his book. Instead, they chatted. She told him about how she was in the process of getting a business degree. Maybe she’d even open her own shop someday. He shared about his love for dead languages and antiques. He even confessed to having a shiny rock collection. (He omitted details about his collection of bones of mysterious origins.)

The sun had sunk into the sky and evening was setting in. Streetlights turned on.

“It’s getting late,” he muttered reluctantly. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“It really is.”

He stood up, packing his things. “Thanks for humoring me today. I enjoyed it,” he managed to choke out. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, scared by his own forwardness.

“It was fun. We should do it again!” she responded cheerfully.

He nearly dropped the book he was holding. Fun? No one who had spent any significant amount of time with him ever walked away and called it “fun.”

“And it’s good practice. Talking like this.” She fiddled with her hair nervously, adjusting her glasses for the umpteenth time that day.

Good practice? He realized that she must still remember his purchase from last time. But if practicing meant spending more time chatting with her… well, that wasn’t so bad.

He walked back to his apartment that night in a daze, questioning his grip on reality. Had he, Flins, really spent the afternoon and evening with a girl who made him feel all funny and wobbly in the knees? Did she really listen to him drone on from a textbook and then suggest they do it again?

He must be making this up.

Chapter Text

How Love Grows

Flins wasn’t making it up. Hero asked him to come again, and again, and again after that. Tuesdays and Thursdays held a special place in the calendar for him. He had never looked forward to a day before. But now? He could hardly sleep most Monday and Wednesday nights.

 John and Mary, the dear old souls that they were, knew something was up. They gave them plenty of space, assuring Hero that business was rather slow these days, so she was better off spending her down time studying with Flins.

These were hours of incomparable of joy for him. Sometimes, he looked at her when the sun hit her just right and he swore he saw someone else hiding beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered. And other times he caught her looking at him a bit too deeply, like she saw past his human shell and found out who he really was.

They learned a lot during those study sessions– when they were both supposed to be studying their respective subjects but in reality were just studying the other.

She’s one of those creative sorts, naturally good at art and music. Her favorite color is yellow. She sings odd songs quietly to herself while she works. She likes cute animals, especially cats. She glances behind her shoulder often, even though nobody is there. The more I’m around her, the less I can believe she is human…

If they were to compare notes, he would’ve noticed that she too was marking down things about him.

He acts cold and reserved but has a wealth of information tucked away in his mind that he accesses with ease and accuracy. He reads and translates historic accounts of wars and bloodshed but has handwritten lines of Shakespeare’s sonnets stashed away at the back of his notebook. He doesn’t appear to have a favorite color besides black. He has a habit of fiddling with the lantern necklace he wears around his neck. He doesn’t seem fully human…

Those were the sort of foolish observations they made, both unable to ask the question that ate away at their minds, “Are you just like me?” or, God forbid, admit that they were actually interested in the other.

They kept on going as they always did: He visited the bookshop a few times a week, talking with her every chance he got. She recommended books to him that he promptly read and returned to discuss with her. They shared about classes, commiserated about bad professors and group assignments, and made up inside jokes and stories. John and Mary watched with knowing eyes, wondering if there was any hope for the young people these days.

This continued as fall turned to winter, and winter turned to spring. A terrible stalemate, really. The kind that would confound Cupid and force him to pursue a different target. Or denounce the existence of love entirely. They would have gone on like this forever, until something happened to get them out of this frustrating rut.

It was an unusually cold spring day. Flins was already headed towards the bookshop. To study, he had told himself.

He stood in front of the door. The lights were off. A hastily written sign that read “CLOSED” was taped to the glass.

That’s odd. Hero hadn’t said anything about the bookshop being closed.

He checked his phone. No new messages from her.

He ducked around the corner, planning to walk through the side alley towards the back entrance. Maybe they were just getting a late start. He came up with many possible explanations, each one more creative than the last, when he was startled out of these thoughts by the voice of Hero coming from the alley.

Chaire, tón mikrón.

Flins' heart stopped within him. He had heard that correctly. She was speaking in Fae, his old tongue. It'd been millennia since he had heard it, but he could never forget it. Not in a thousand years.

He crept further in. Hero was in the alley, crooning softly to some scruffy cat. Hardly a worthy recipient of that noble speech. She must have heard him coming, because she jerked her head towards him, eyes wide.

“Flins. You scared me. I’m just out here feeding Pip.” She straightened up, nervous, like a kid caught doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing. The mangy cat, presumably Pip, rubbed its head gleefully against her ankles. She stooped down to pet it.

“You’re a Fae, aren’t you?” He blurted out, more like a statement, unable to keep it contained, and utterly tactless.

She froze. He rambled on, trying to explain himself. “I didn’t mean to spy on you. The bookstore was closed, and I noticed a voice coming from here. I saw you and–”

“You heard me speak to the cat.”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I suppose there’s no hiding it. You’re right. I’m a Fae. Just like you.”

So she too knew what he was. That made things easier. They both had been suspecting the other for months, and finally the truth came out.

But there was no happiness in her voice over this discovery. Only pain. And tension.

“That’s wonderful news, Hero! I can’t tell you how amazing it is to know that I’m not alone. That we’ve found each other.” In his excitement, he took a step closer to him, and she shrank from him. “Hero? What’s wrong?”

She stood up, wrapping her arms around herself. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, Flins?” Her voice shook, her lower lip quivered, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

Just the fact that she even had to ask that question was painful beyond measure for him. Having every bone broken in his body would’ve hurt less. Maybe not, but Flins was one of those hopeless romantic types who thought things like that.

“Hero, look at me.” He cautiously stepped forward, closer, closer, closer, until he stood in front of her. She didn’t shrink back. He gently rested his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never forgive myself if I did because–”

He stopped. If he kept going, his secret would be out.

“Because I love you.”

He said it. She had told him her secret, and now he told her his. For months, he had agonized over what it was about Hero that made her live in his mind rent-free. Now that he spoke it out loud, it made so much sense. Love. Of course. Only love could do the things that happened to him recently. Only love could purge away the pain of existence from him and make him look forward to each new day, because now, he finally had someone to spend them with.

The real question is, what was her reaction?

At first, she cowered and trembled, like one listening to a judge casting their sentence. Then she was surprised. Then relieved. Then happy. Then sad. Then happy again.

All in the span of a few confusing moments.

Flins held his breath, wondering if he blew it. Disappearing and taking on a new identity wouldn’t be able to take away the sting of being rejected.

Until she steadied herself and spoke.

“I love you too.”

I won’t even try to explain what went on in Flins’ mind. He probably thought he was dreaming and had stepped into some fairytale romance.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You have no idea how happy you just made me.”

He carefully pulled her to sit next to him, desperately trying to still the pounding of his heart. “Tell me why you were so frightened, why you thought I might hurt you.”

They sat together in that grubby alley, backs against the brick wall. His arm was around her, her head resting on his shoulder. And she told him her story.

“I was one of the last Fae to be created. A small, weak thing compared to the others. It wasn’t long afterwards that Hyperborea collapsed. The people were scattered, and the Fae aristocracies were formed. But I doubt I need to explain that history to you. You probably have a better grasp on it than I do,” she added wryly.

He nodded. “I remember it well. It was around that time I left the company of other Fae and began my sojourns among humans.”

“You were lucky. Being so young, it didn’t seem possible for me to leave and survive on my own. So I stayed with the Fae. Then the world began to change. We stopped mingling with humans as much and eventually avoided them altogether. As time went on, we retreated deeper into more hidden and secret places, establishing the last kingdom of the Fae. We foolishly thought we’d be safe there forever. Little did we know that the real danger wasn’t from the outside, but from within.”

She paused, thinking of how to explain what happened next. “A disease broke out. It began with the elders. Great cracks began to appear in their bodies. No matter what the most skilled healers did, they couldn’t prevent the illness from worsening. Fear and panic spread rapidly. No expense was spared in finding the source of the erosion, and eventually, it was discovered that the disease was related to the loss of magic.

“The entire kingdom was put on lockdown, and an evaluation was announced. All Fae were to be tested. Those with lower magic reserves were taken into custody for ‘treatment.’ We never saw any of them again,” she breathed.

A shudder passed through Flins. “What happened to them? Tell me.”

“They were consumed.” Her voice was full of brokenness, barely above a whisper. “Every last drop of magic was squeezed out and taken from them. Our leaders phrased it as a plan to ensure the survival of our kind. Sacrificing the weak to nurture the strong. A horrific, yet necessary measure to take.”

He took in her words. He had read about humans committing such atrocities against other humans, but to hear of his fellow Fae acting in the same manner? It was hard to swallow.

“One great and final purge was announced, dooming most of the population. That’s when I knew I had to get out or die trying. Me and a few others planned our escape. We waited for a moonless night and made a run for it. But they didn’t make it.”

Her shoulders heaved, silent sobs escaping from her. Flins took her glasses from her face and wiped them clean with his shirt. He handed them back to her, wordlessly coaxing her to continue.

“We were betrayed. One of the Fae in our group, Kretus, sold us out. I suppose the promise given to him of taking our magic and extending his lifespan was too tempting an offer to refuse, even if it meant betraying his friends.”

Flins wrestled with a cold anger building inside of him as he listened to her words. A sour feeling pooled in his stomach, completely opposite to the calm contentment he felt earlier of loving and being loved in return. He didn’t tell her this, but at that moment, he secretly vowed to have Kretus’ head.

If I was there, I probably would’ve said that such behavior is to be expected from a Fae whose name is so curiously close to the word cretin, but now isn’t the time for a bad joke.

Hero resumed her account of that night. “Attempting to escape was considered treason. My companions were caught, judged, and executed immediately.”

Flins was stunned by the injustice and the cruelty of it all. How could they be so vicious to one of their own?

“Have you ever watched a Fae die? Saw what happened to them once they were drained of all magic?” she asked bitterly.

He shook his head.

“They faded away until nothing was left and crumbled into dust.” There was a far-off look in her eyes, witnesses to unspoken horrors.

Flins tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He needed to comfort her, but how? How does one take away the pain of being betrayed, of watching your friends be slaughtered right in front of you, of being the only one to survive?

He mustered up all the tenderness he could, praying to the gods that they would never allow this poor girl to be hurt ever again, and drew her closer to himself. “What you’ve experienced is… horrific. No one should suffer the way you have. That fact that you’re here with me now is a miracle and testament to your strength and resilience.” He kept his arms around her, shielding her from the world, as she wept. “None of it is your fault. You don’t need to feel guilty for the wrongs committed by others.”

She wiped her eyes. “I’ve been so afraid that I have been followed this whole time. I put great effort into veiling my presence and disguising myself as a human.”

Flins winced. He had put on a human disguise because it made things easier and more convenient for him. But she did so because she feared being hunted down and killed. The number of hardships she endured was almost unjust.

He squeezed her hand. “You’ve done well, Hero. But you don’t need to face things alone ever again. I’m here now. And I'd do anything to keep you safe.” She thanked him softly, and he let her take comfort in his embrace.

Her story had left him wondering about one thing, which he raised to her curiously. “Why haven’t we fallen to decay?”

She tapped her fingers against his arm, thinking deeply. “I’ve wondered that myself. The only explanation I’ve come up with is that we were willing to change. We’ve adapted, haven’t we? We focused on living among the humans and discovered new ways of drawing magic out of this different world along the way. But the old Fae refused to change, only accepting outdated solutions to new problems.”

Flins pondered her words. It was true that he had adjusted to the new world. Never would he have thought that it would have been so crucial to his survival.

He stood up, offering her his hand. “Take a walk with me. Let’s get out of this gloomy alleyway and leave these dark memories behind.”

He had just confessed to her, for God’s sake, and it was being overshadowed by these tragic thoughts of the past. She took his hand, and he helped her up, standing just a few spans apart.

“Do you trust me?” he murmured, looking down into her face.

“Of course,” she responded.

“Then hold on tight.” He put an arm around her waist and in an instant, their surroundings melted away.

When she opened her eyes, they were in a wooded grove, vibrant with that new life ushered in by spring. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere, and the birds sang one final evening song, warbling a farewell to the day. It was amazing, the distance one could travel in an instant when you use magic. She had almost forgotten what it felt like, the rush of being swallowed up in a force bigger than yourself.

 “Don’t worry, we’re not far from the city,” he assured her. “I’ll get you home before dark, I promise. I wanted to take you here so I could ask you something.”

“And what is that?”

He worked up the courage to make his request. “Will you show me what you look like. I mean, really look like.”

“Only if you do, too.”

He smiled. “I can do that. But,” he added, his tone rife with mischief, “I can’t promise that you won’t fall madly in love with me once you see my true form.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “We’ll see about that.”

A cool breeze blew through them, taking with it the masks they had donned for hundreds of years. Flins’ shabby appearance melted away, revealing his true nature in all its elegance.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re certainly easy on the eyes.”

He blushed. It was the most irreverent, cavalier compliment he had ever received. And it quickly became the one he would never forget, the type of compliment you remind yourself of when you fall asleep at night.

He took in her changed appearance. Her hair was long and wavy, a brilliant turquoise, with silver strands scattered throughout like tinsel. Her eyes, no longer hidden behind those large glasses, shone out like rubies, a striking crimson. She was so lovely his heart ached.

“You’re far more beautiful,” he stated.

Only a pair of foolish lovers could turn something like complimenting each other into a competition. But that’s exactly what they were, a pair of foolish, foolish lovers.

They lingered in that grove until the stars came out, later than Flins initially promised. But she didn’t care. All the disguises and masks were off now, and they could finally bare their hearts to the other. Being together like that was worth staying out a bit late. She feared nothing– the darkness of the night, the uncertainty of the future– with him by her side.

As he stood outside her doorway later that night saying goodbye, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stammered timidly, “Does this mean we’re seeing each other now?”

She leaned forwards, standing on her tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his lips, shy and sweet. “I think it does.” Embarrassed by her boldness, she offered him a rushed “Goodnight!” and shut the door.

Flins didn’t even notice the door slam in his face. He was still registering what had just happened.

He practically floated the whole way home, no thoughts in his head, just the remembrance of Hero’s kiss.

That was the ushering in of a new era for them. Doing what the humans called “dating” opened a whole world. Walks in the park together, coffee dates in cafes, cooking for each other in their apartments. Sometimes, Flins would look at the human couples around him and almost pity them. Here they were, struggling to squeeze out every precious moment and memory for all it was worth, while he felt that an endless life with Hero wouldn’t be enough.

Life suddenly mattered. Days were not meaningless because now they were markers of pleasant memories and things hoped for in the future. Gone were the loneliness and despair in his eyes.

I suppose life has a funny way of growing on you like that. One day, you’re wondering about what it’d be like to be rid of it for good, and the next you can hardly breathe over the ache of realizing how fragile it is.

For Flins, time went by swiftly, and for once he could acknowledge its passing without bitterness. He had a new perspective now. All that emptiness accrued by countless days alone was just making room, room for Hero to take residence in, never to depart.

Chapter Text

How Love is Tested

Flins was a wreck. He’d been like that since he woke up that morning. From his first sip of coffee, during his walk to campus, and through each lecture he sat through. Every one of his seatmates got annoyed at his incessant foot-tapping. He didn’t bother trying to calm himself.

Today was special, because today marked a year since he had met Hero. He had planned a splendid date to celebrate. Tucked away in his pockets were two tickets to an art museum. He would pick Hero up after her shift at the bookshop and they’d go together. He added an additional surprise of dinner at a fancy restaurant afterwards. How could he not be a ball of nerves and excitement?

He rushed himself the entire way to the bookstore. He could’ve gotten there faster using magic, but Hero forbade him from using it for trivial things like getting around. “We’re pretending to be human, so we better act like it!” she had told him. The look on her face when she said that was so earnest and adorable, he felt duty-bound to respect it.

After what felt like too long, he pushed through the entryway of the bookshop, breathless and excited, unable to hide the boyish grin on his face. Mary was straightening things by the register, John was bumbling around in the back, and Hero was nowhere to be seen.

“Mary,” Flins said, raising an eyebrow, “where’s Hero?”

“She went out for a bit,” Mary responded casually, not once looking away from her work.

Flins was surprised. That was unlike her. Especially since she had made plans with him today.

“Out where?” He didn’t mean to sound so clingy, but he couldn’t help it.

“A man dropped by. Some official-looking city worker with a clipboard. Said he had to run an impromptu safety evaluation.” Mary explained, dusting the counter. “He looked around the shop for a bit and then said there were some safety concerns he needed to address. I never was any good at understanding all that sort of stuff. John always did. But his hearing is so bad these days he’d only frustrate the poor man. So Hero went with him to discuss the details.”

Flins picked through her words, trying to piece together the pertinent facts. She really meant to say that Hero left to talk about terms with a man because he seemed “official.”? And she expected him to think that explanation made any sense? A clipboard doesn’t necessarily establish legitimacy, he wanted to tell her, but he wasn’t going to argue that now. Instead, he grasped for more information, a deep dread forming in his stomach, surging into his chest, threatening to choke him.

“Where’d they go? Did you see which direction they went?” He could feel his voice rising in desperation.

She looked at him, confused by his eagerness. “They took a left out of the bookstore, I think.”

"Thanks, Mary. I’ll see you around,” he managed to shout over his shoulder as he bolted towards the exit.

“What a strange young man,” she murmured to herself as she watched him go.

Flins dashed into the street, a million thoughts and worries racing through his mind. Something was off. There was no way Hero would have willingly gone with a strange man whose sole credential was that he carried a clipboard.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and squeezed his eyes shut, taking in long, ragged breaths.

Think, Flins, think.

Panicking wouldn’t do him any good. If his instincts were right, like they usually were, he needed to find her fast. He forced himself to focus. He could recognize her magic and presence anywhere. He was confident that he could pinpoint it no matter how far. He just needed to calm himself.

Several thudding heartbeats later, he felt it– the faintest traces of her, outside of the city. He clung to it like a lifeline, ignoring his terror at discovering that a darker, fouler presence was tangled with it. He rushed to her location, noticing in passing that he was heading towards the quiet, wooded spot where he and Hero had first revealed their true selves to one another. He arrived not a moment too soon. More accurately, he arrived several moments too late.

He took in the scene. This glade, which had been a place of joy and new life for him, was now as chilling as a graveyard. Hero lay on the ground like a crumpled leaf, and he couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive. A tall figure stood nearby, his presence rank with decay and madness, jarringly non-human and unsettling. It took only a moment for Flins to realize what had happened. This ghastly monster had siphoned away Hero’s magic like some modern-day vampire. Flins was sickened by the thought.

The stranger flexed his newly acquired power triumphantly, his beady eyes scanning Flins hungrily. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. You’re late, boy.”

Flins couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “You’ve killed her!” was all he could choke out, in a sound that was something born between a sob and a snarl, hot tears springing into his eyes.

“Tch. If borrowing a bit of her magic was enough to kill her, then she was a weakling who didn’t deserve her power. The lengths she went to protect those two decrepit humans was absurd.”

A heavy anger settled deep within Flins. He knew who this Fae was. This was Hero’s old nightmare from the past.

“You’re Kretus, aren’t you?” he called out, speaking his name like it was something contemptible.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me before? I’m flattered,” the stranger, revealed to be Kretus, declared smugly. “Today really is my lucky day. I was initially surprised to find two Fae so cozy with each other. But I can’t complain. It made you easier to find. Two for the price of one, as they say.” He bared his teeth in a hideous grin, cracks spreading from the corners of his mouth and across his cadaverous face. “You should be honored. The two of you will sustain me for a few centuries, at the very least.”

Flins had never been more disgusted in the entirety of his long life. “If you think I’ll let that happen, you’re gravely mistaken.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kretus countered, rushing at him without a moment’s hesitation, intending to strike him down in one strike with a wicked-looking knife that he wielded skillfully. Flins barely had time to react, narrowly managing to summon his polearm and shield himself from Kretus’ blow by the skin of his teeth. He was all out of sorts, still reeling from seeing Hero’s lifeless form cast aside on the ground. Kretus delighted in seeing how shaken he was and took full advantage of it, raining down blow upon blow on Flins with rapid cruelty.

At first, Flins could only defend himself weakly, but slowly, his shock and grief began to be enveloped by a searing hatred for the one who had been so selfish and haughty that he deemed his life more valuable than Hero’s, snuffing hers out to prolong his. Flins rallied himself, fighting back with renewed vigor, no longer passively taking a defensive position but shifting to the offense, craftily weaving his icy blue flames into his attacks with calculated rage. Back and forth they went in a dangerous dance, a swirling fight to the death.

Flins pushed forward even further, forcing Kretus back, intent on ending the duel as soon as he could. Kretus guarded himself cautiously in response, and perhaps that was the beginning of the end for him. He was so careful not to waste even a drop of his magic that he held himself back. Flins, on the other hand, fought like a man ready to die. And maybe part of him already had died with Hero. He attacked recklessly, caring not if he consumed himself with the heat of his own flames.

Kretus grew tired and impatient and lunged at him, and that’s when Flins found an opening. He turned quickly, whipping his polearm around, and Kretus ran straight into it. His entire body lurched with a horrid, retching shiver, and he stopped in place for a few miserable seconds, open-mouthed, impaled on Flins’ polearm. Flins grimly placed his foot on his chest and shoved him off, pulling out his polearm, letting Kretus collapse to the ground in a grubby heap.

Flins stood still, panting. Silver blood ran out of him like molten metal, yet he hardly noticed. He wanted more than anything to run to Hero’s side, to comfort his heart that she was still alive. But he couldn’t do that just yet. He needed to finish this.

He wearily trudged to where Kretus lay on his back, gasping for each breath like it could be his last. His sharp eyes roved up at him, still mocking even as he lay dying. “What are you waiting for? Take my magic.”

Flins would not do that. He would not stoop to the level of taking what did not belong to him.

“No. I’ve only come to claim what rightfully belongs to Hero. I don’t want the slightest taste of whatever other wretched magic you stole. Besides,” he added ruefully, “it’s probably cursed.”

Kretus swore, spitting towards the ground. “You altruistic types make me sick.”

Flins didn’t care. He didn’t have time to care.

“When I first heard of your pathetic existence, I swore to have your head.” He stepped closer, raising his weapon. “The time to collect has come.”

With that, he plunged his polearm straight into Kretus’ heart. Kretus closed his eyes in death as he was in life, twisted, ugly, and entirely alone. His body crumbled into dust, the wind scattering the bits that remained. Even the ground refused to offer him a place to rest.

Flins didn’t watch him die.

He dashed to Hero’s side, gently taking her hand. “Hero? I’m here; you’re safe now.”

There was no response.

He examined her condition anxiously. His fingers trembled as he brushed them across her pale face. She was alive, thank goodness, but she was cold and fading fast. Her color had all but drained away, leaving her ashy and gray, like a character who stepped out of a black-and-white movie. He remembered her words from the alley behind the bookstore. What happened to Fae who lost their magic, their life source.

They faded away, until nothing was left, and crumbled to dust.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeated frantically, rubbing her hands as if he could warm them back to life. He rested his forehead against hers, returning the magic to her that she had lost.

“Open your eyes, Hero. Come back to me.”

A few long and painful seconds was all it took to reveal that it wouldn’t be enough. He could feel it. He was pouring magic into her like a torrent with no effect, like trying to fill a broken glass with water. It was seeping through the cracks, and with it, her life.

That’s when he made his decision. There was no deliberation, no self-pity. Just the pure rush of giving yourself away. He had told her that he’d do anything for her, hadn’t he?

He tore his lantern off from his neck, placing it in her palm, curling her fingers around it and resting his hand over hers. He knew the cost. He knew that once he gave all his magic to her, he would retreat into the lantern, most likely never to awaken again. He was okay with that outcome.

He focused every ounce of his energy and magic into her. As his life slowly drained out of him, he saw it returning in her. Color seeped into her. First her face, then her hair. She was being brought back to life.

His vision turned hazy. Time seemed non-existent. Each breath took monumental effort.

So this is what dying feels like.

He had always figured he would die someday. Maybe not this soon. It was ironic, how a being who lived thousands of years assumed he still had a few more years left in him. Life had suddenly become so precious to him, and now he was throwing it away. But if his death could give life to the one he loved, he couldn’t imagine a better way to go.

His only regret was that they had spent such little time together. If only they had found each other sooner. Perhaps even a thousand years together wouldn’t have been long enough.

He was slipping away into unconsciousness now. The familiar arms of oblivion were already wrapping themselves around him. Just before it all went dark, he thought he saw the faintest flutter in Hero’s eyes. Maybe it was the false hope of a dying man. But to him, it made everything worth it.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Well, there you have it. The story of Flins the Fae. A tale of love gained and lost, before either could fully grasp the value of it.

You don’t like it? Why not? Oh, so you think that this can’t possibly be how it ends.

I can’t change the ending or pull a new one out of a hat. That’s not the sort of magic I deal with. I told you I had to relate it exactly as I heard it from the little birdie– no edits, additions, or pretend happy endings.

I hate to break it to you, but life doesn’t always go the way you wish it would. Especially for a true story like this one.

Hang on, I’m getting a call.

...

I’m back, and you’re in for a real treat! Who should appear just outside my window but my dear friend, the little birdie? It appears that there is one last piece to this story.

Sit back down again and let me tell you how it really ends.

Chapter Text

How Love Comes Out Like Gold

Flins opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed in through a window. There was a flower box in it, full of yellow and orange marigolds.

He sat up. He was on the ground, his familiar lantern resting on a nightstand next to him. He looked around, blinking slowly, realization washing over him. This was Hero’s room, the same as he remembered it. Faded floral wallpaper plastered to the walls, a small closet in the corner with a door that never shut, dried flowers hanging from twine around the room. What was he doing in her apartment?

He heard the clanging of a pan coming from the kitchen and immediately, all other questions were forgotten. One thing burned in his mind: finding Hero and never letting her go again.

He carefully and hesitantly walked towards the kitchen, not wanting to alarm her. But how does one reappear in someone’s life without causing a big disturbance?

He saw her in the kitchen, a carton of eggs in her hand, getting ready to cook breakfast, her hair damp from taking a shower. His heart clenched within him. She looked so human. Leave it to Hero to find a way to blend in successfully for so long, he thought. He cautiously spoke up.

“Hero?”

The carton of eggs dropped to the floor. Hero faced him, momentarily paralyzed by shock.

“Flins!” she called out, running to him like she was running towards salvation.

He picked her up by the waist and spun her around, unable to contain his joy, smiling and laughing like an idiot.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” she whispered, resting her hand on his cheek, feeling him, ensuring he was real.

He kissed her palm. “It’s really me, love.”

He set her back down on the ground, his arms still around her, unwilling to let her go for even a second.

“How long has it been?” he asked tensely. He was afraid to hear her answer, to hear how long he had left her all alone.

“Ten years.”

Those words hit him like a truck. Ten years? For ten years he’d slept in that lantern while she carried on without him. In the past, ten years would have been nothing to him. A blink of an eye, a blip on a radar. But after meeting Hero and determining to live with her like humans do, every minute was precious to him.

“Don’t feel bad about it. Ten years is hardly anything in the grand scheme of things,” she consoled him, wrapping her arms around his neck, stroking his hair. “Especially when I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up.”

He knew she was putting on a brave face and he had to love her for it.

“What have you been up to all this time?” he inquired tenderly.

Her face brightened. “Let me show you.”

Breakfast forgotten, (Fae don’t really need to eat, anyway. At least, not like us humans do.) she practically dragged him by the arm out into the busy street. Down a couple blocks. Headed towards familiar territory. A few minutes later, they both stopped in front of Myths and Mothballs Bookshop.

Flins whistled. “I never thought I’d see this old place again.”

She laughed, pulling out a ring of keys, selecting a brass colored one, sliding it into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door opened and she ushered him inside.

“Welcome to my bookshop!” she announced, with a flourish of her hands.

“Wait… your bookshop?” He looked around. It was relatively unchanged. A bit fresher, no longer musty, with updated lights and furniture. Except for one– a brown, overstuffed leather chair in the corner. “It looks great, Hero.”

She smiled. “I tried to freshen it up a bit without losing its old charm.”

“I think you succeeded,” he said.

His gaze rested on the empty counter.“Mary and John, what happened to them?”

“Passed away a couple of years ago. Mary first, then John shortly after,” she simply explained, with a subtle sadness at the recollection. “Don’t think he could handle life without her.”

“Oh,” responded Flins, in a small, almost apologetic voice. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. They lived a good life, as human lives go.” She rubbed her eyes stubbornly, as if daring them to betray her with tears. “What more could you ask for?”

Flins didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“Anyway, before they died, they left the bookshop to me. They never did have any kids, so I suppose they saw me as the closest thing to their daughter.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. She spoke of her involvement so lightly, yet she must have been an immense comfort to that old couple in their twilight years.

“How did you explain it to them? My disappearance?”

She smiled sheepishly. “I told them you were a foreign exchange student on a scholarship who was suddenly called back home to a rural place in a different country. Which explained why you weren’t able to stay in touch.

He shook his head, incredulous. “And they believed that?”

“Well,” she said, voice faltering slightly, “they were old.”

“You deceptive little Fae,” he jabbed, poking her in the nose.

“Hey!” she yelped, protecting her face with her hands. “You ought to be grateful to me! I spent a lot of time covering for you.”

“Oh believe me, I am grateful to you. Immensely so. Actually, I’m so indebted to you, I think I’ll have to dedicate the rest of my life to serving you.” He grinned wickedly, dramatically kneeling in front of her. “Lady Hero, whatever you need, just say the word. I’ll do it for you, by my life or by my death.”

“Get up, you fool,” she hissed. “People are going to see you acting like a lunatic.” She pulled him up by the arm. “And you aren’t allowed to die on me again. I’ll kill you if you do.”

He was about to ask her how she would manage to kill an already dead man, but he didn’t have the opportunity. She was gone, off to greet the first round of customers that walked through the door, her cheeks red.

He spent that day sitting in that old chair of his in the corner, watching her at work from the sides of his eyes. Just like he always did.

Contrary to how he remembered it, the bookshop now was a thriving and vibrant business, with customers and students bustling in and out, the door chime ringing constantly. It was funny how these dull humans could perceive that something about Hero and this place was special. Dense as humans are, he had to admire them for their instincts. They could be standing face to face with a Fae and never know it, but somewhere inside, something told them that there was something unique here.

By late afternoon, Hero closed up shop. A bit early. When Flins asked her why, she said it was because there were some things she had to do.

He followed her around like a puppy, letting her answer his unasked questions in her own time, to the drab old alley next to the shop. He could never forget this place. The scene of his confession, the day the truth came out. Hardly a romantic environment, he recollected, with the subtlest hint of embarrassment.

Hero was up to the same thing she was on that day, fussing over a mangy street cat.

“This is Pip Jr.,” she explained, stroking the cat’s mottled chin. “And he’s every bit as mischievous as his father was. Maybe even more.”

Flins could only watch in wonder.

Hero left out a bowl of food for him and carried on to her next task. She purchased a bouquet of flowers from the market next door and called a taxi, who drove them outside of the city, to a quiet graveyard. He chuckled inwardly. She was still so committed to doing everything like a human.

They walked side-by-side, arms linked together. It was autumn again. Of course it was. All the best things happened then. He breathed in the air, relishing it. He felt more alive now than he ever had, walking in the cool air, holding her hand.

She stopped in front of a pair of graves. Flins didn’t need to read the names on the tombstone to know whose they were.

Hero placed the bouquet of flowers on the ground between the tombstones. “He came back, like I always said he would. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Just rest now.”

Flins stood there in silence. He didn’t know what to say. He could see how much they had meant to her, and he felt indebted to them for watching over her while he was asleep. But now they were gone, and he never got the chance to thank them.

The sun was setting, casting its golden rays across the empty graveyard. Hero sighed softly, taking his hand.“Flins, let’s go home.”

He couldn’t agree more. He held onto her hand, silently promising to never let it go. That’s how he’d repay the old couple. He would take care of the daughter they left behind for as long as he lived.

...

Back at her apartment, they both collapsed onto her couch, talking and catching up. She even surprised him by showing him some of his old clothes and books and collections that she had managed to save.

“So what do you think? Did I do a good job?” she asked coyly.

He couldn’t hold back the tears. Tears of gratefulness, joy, and complete bewilderment over how he ever deserved her kindness.

“I don’t know what to say, Hero. You had no obligation to do any of this,” he rasped.

He could hardly believe it. This life and identity that he wore like an old hat, ready to be discarded when he felt like it, she had kept and cared for, all for the improbable chance that he might return. Not just his things. This place, the bookshop, that ugly old leather chair. Waiting for him.

He swallowed hard.

I could marry you.

“You ought to after everything I’ve done,” she said, gently wiping away his tears. “All that miserable waiting around, pining away for you.”

“I think I will,” he replied, taking her into his arms, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And he did. No great ceremony. Nothing gaudy or extravagant. Just two Fae, vowing to trust each other, cherish each other, and protect each other, until their long lives ran out.

Chapter Text

Epilogue (The Real One)

Alright, I’ll admit it. This was a far more satisfying ending than the previous one. But don’t think I’ll always be able to cater to your needs for a happy ending.

Where are they, you ask? Well, they could be anyone, anywhere. That charming couple who has been with each other forever, the pair of star-studded actors who have such unique chemistry they’re always casted together, the artist and his muse, a rambling wanderer and the place he always returns home to.

The possibilities are endless, you see.

The End.