THE BRIGHTER THE STAR / THE FASTER THEY BURN.

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     In the dim twilight of a quiet realm, Adira Zevros stood, her silhouette haloed by the faint luminescence of distant stars. Her gaze drifted over the horizon where sky met land in a haze of violet and amber, as if caught between day and night, existence and oblivion. The gentle rustle of ethereal winds seemed to hum with a melancholy note, whispering tales of a thousand lifetimes, of meetings and partings, of hope reborn and shattered again.

    She felt him before she saw him. A familiar presence, like a shadow slipping through the folds of reality, threading himself into her world just as he had countless times before.

     "Do you ever grow weary of it?" His voice cut through the stillness, low and laced with a bittersweet lilt. He stood beside her, dressed in dark, regal attire that spoke of both elegance and untamed chaos. His eyes, green as deep forest shadows, held a glint of mischief and sorrow as they studied her.

     Adira turned to him, her own eyes reflecting the brilliance of the stars above—eyes that seemed to carry all the light of the cosmos, yet haunted by the weight of it. "Weary of what, Loki?" she asked, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, though her voice trembled with something unspoken.

     "Of finding each other," he murmured, reaching out as though to touch her cheek but stopping just short, his hand hovering as if he feared she might dissolve into stardust beneath his touch. "Only to be torn apart by fate, time after time."

     Adira closed her eyes, leaning ever so slightly into the warmth that radiated from his palm. It was a gesture born from lifetimes of shared memories, of bittersweet reunions, of worlds saved and lost. "Each time, I tell myself it will be different," she said softly. "That perhaps this is the lifetime where we defy the fates, where we finally get to stay."

     Loki's mouth curved into a sad, wry smile. "And yet, we are nothing if not creatures bound to our roles, shackled by forces we scarcely understand." He lowered his hand, casting his gaze toward the shimmering expanse above. "I am a trickster, a liar. And you... you are light, bound to a world that needs you more than it will ever need me."

     "And yet," she whispered, stepping closer, until there was hardly a breath between them. "In every universe, every life, I find you. And I choose you, again and again." Her fingers brushed his, a fleeting touch that sparked with unspoken promises, as fragile as a spider's web. "What does that say about fate?"

     He chuckled, a sound laced with regret and longing, one that echoed against the stillness of the night. "That it is perhaps as foolish as we are."

     They stood in silence, side by side, their hands almost, but not quite, entwined. She felt the familiar ache settling in her chest, an ache born from knowledge—that this moment, like so many others, was finite. Soon enough, some unseen force would tear them apart, scattering them across space and time like flecks of dust. But for now, there was only the starlit meadow, the stillness, and him.

     "Do you ever think," she began, her voice fragile, "that there might be one universe, one reality, where we win? Where we're not forced apart?"

     He looked at her, his gaze softening as he took in the delicate threads of hope that lingered in her words. "Perhaps," he murmured, "but I imagine that universe would be quite... ordinary. We would be stripped of the grand destinies, the empires and the gods. It would be just us. A quiet life."

     "Then I would choose that," she said fiercely, turning to him, the stars glinting in her eyes. "A life without kingdoms or thrones. Just you and me, free of duty, free of fate."

     He chuckled softly, though it's a sad sound, laced with the knowledge of all they've endured. "Spoken like a true heir of Astraea," he said, and the admiration in his voice is palpable. "But even you, the daughter of a God, can't change the stars."

     "Perhaps not," she said, her voice steady. "But I can change what they mean."

    For a heartbeat, he looked as though he might reach for her, close that last fragile space between them. But then he straightened, his expression hardening, though the sorrow remained etched in his gaze. "Adira, even if we could defy fate, if we could break free from the threads that bind us—" his voice broke, a rare vulnerability slipping through—"what would remain of us? Who would we be?"

     Her hand, warm and steady, found his, and for a moment he allowed himself to feel her touch, to ground himself in that fleeting sensation. "We would be two souls who chose love over duty," she whispered. "And perhaps, that is all we ever needed to be."

     "Do you ever hate me for it?" Loki asked suddenly, his voice barely more than a breath, as though he were ashamed to even wonder. "For finding you? For making you suffer through this again and again?"

     Adira's heart ached at his question, and she reached out, her fingers brushing just barely against his, a touch so fleeting it was almost imagined. "How could I ever hate you?" she replied, her voice breaking. "I would endure every life, every heartbreak, if it meant I'd find you waiting for me."

     Loki's hand moved instinctively, reaching out to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as he memorized every detail of her, as if trying to etch her into his soul. His touch was a balm and a wound all at once, sending a rush of warmth and sorrow flooding through her veins.

     "If only it were that simple," he murmured, his own voice thick with longing. "If only love were enough to shatter the chains that bind us." He leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching, and she could feel his breath against her skin, warm and familiar, a comfort she knew she would soon be forced to live without.

     She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall as she whispered, "It has to be enough. I can't... I can't keep doing this, Loki. Not if I know it will always end this way."

     For a moment, he said nothing, his silence more damning than any words. When he finally spoke, his voice was broken, almost as if he were pleading. "Then let this be our promise, Adira. No matter what world, no matter what form I take... I will find you. I will find you and love you, even if it's only for a moment."

     She nodded, unable to speak, her chest tight with the knowledge that, even now, they were slipping away from each other, the hands of fate closing around them, prying them apart. She looked up at him, memorizing his face one last time, the sharp angles softened by the sorrow in his eyes, the tenderness in his gaze that he reserved only for her.

     "And I will wait," she whispered, her voice trembling. "In every life. In every world. Until the stars themselves burn out."

     He leaned forward, his lips brushing her forehead, a touch that was achingly gentle, filled with all the words he couldn't say. She felt his hand tighten in hers, his grip desperate, as if he could hold her here with him if only he tried hard enough. She wanted to believe it, wanted to imagine a world where this wasn't their ending, but deep down, she felt the threads of the universe pulling her away.

     As the darkness began to swirl around them, Loki's fingers slipped from hers, the warmth fading, leaving her cold and hollow. Her vision blurred, the stars spinning, as if the universe itself mourned their parting. In her last moments of consciousness, she saw his face, saw the pain etched into his features as he watched her fade from his world.

     And in the final moment, as the darkness consumed her, she heard his voice—a soft, broken whisper, floating through the endless void.

     "Until the stars burn out."

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I love them so much.

2024   ©   captainsmarveI