“It’s wonderful,” he told her, and she could hear the tears in his voice. “You live for a remarkable thirteen hundred and twenty-five more years, and with you, I find a happiness, a peace, and a repose I never thought was possible. That’s why—that’s why this is so difficult. Right now, you hardly know me. You think—no, you suspect—that I might be that special someone you never thought you’d find.” He shook his head, breathing in air as if his throat were a clogged drain. “But for me, it’s different. You’re right. I’ve seen it—our whole future. I witnessed through frosted glass the gentle times, the tears, the laughter, the children, the moments big and small. Those people out there in the city, they have no idea of the true breadth of this loss. They see the person you are now and mourn, but I have seen the person you become . . . and I’ve fallen in love with her.”

He took her face in his hands. “There are moments in time that are incredibly cruel. The worst occur when true greatness begins to bud but is snuffed out before the blossom. You are the star allowed only to flicker briefly in the morning light, erased by the rising sun.”

“You are my executioner, then?”

Tears ran the length of his face. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You must.”

“I can’t.” He pressed his wet cheek to hers, holding tight.

“The sun is rising.” Farilane thumbed away his tears. “My star must fade.”

Kile began to shake.

“Afterward . . .” Farilane said, “afterward, you can have pie.”

With trembling lips, he dared what no other man had and kissed her. In doing so, he stole her breath away.

Kile walked out of the palace, the first rays of sun hitting the square at the same moment he arrived. No one spoke to him. They knew what he was, what he had done, and they scattered at his approach. Even the knights stepped aside. Having trouble breathing, he paused at the fountain, leaning on it to catch his breath.

Although not a cloud marred the blue sky, thunder cracked overhead. He did not look up, but soon a white feather descended lightly, touching ground inches from his foot. He wiped his eyes clear and stared at it.

Then he walked away.

Two more fell.

He ignored them.

Quickening his pace, he left the city through a growing blizzard of white feathers that blanketed the streets, roofs, and balconies where they remained untouched until the wind blew them away.

Afterword

Afterword

Well, that was . . . that was, certainly something. Hey all, it’s Robin. You might want to take a moment to compose yourself. Don’t forget to breathe. If you need a Kleenex, go get one, and if you feel you’ll need to step away and come back tomorrow, I’ll understand.