@saintemia
“Morgana.”
Once, the sight of her would have made him cry tears he would have been ashamed of, now he feels like if he did cry at all, they would be tears of joy.
She’s not healed. Not completely. Not physically and not spiritually. There are scars that will mark them both through eons of reconstruction into happier times.
A gust of wind blows by them, causing the trees to sway and their robes; her deep maroon and his red to pick up and dance around them with the leaves. Her figure seems frailer than he remembers, his must as well. They have no power here.
Here they are both just people.
“Are you alright?” the question comes out without prompting, before a million other more important questions that she’ll answer more honestly. But sometimes, it was important people who would never be normal to have normal conversations.
“I thought, out of all of us you’d want to move on the most.”
At least, thats what you told me. That’s what she would have wanted.
