Regret colors her cheeks rosy. A blunt tongue exempt of kindness is not one Diana ever wishes to speak with. Lost love has made her neither bitter nor wise, but it has broken her. It has stolen her gilded perception of the world and painted it in horrific shades. She carries ghosts in her chest where her heart should be. Everyday, she seems to collect more of them, yet it is him who haunts her the most all these years later. Steve. The first innocent she failed to save and the last innocent who would die because of her naivety. She loves him, still, and losing him stings, still.
She and Clark are still strangers in many ways. He knows not of her history, and there may be many more moons until she can find the words to share it with him. But she knows a thing or two about truth, and even more about love, which is all she needs to understand that Clark and Lois have souls entwined by the gods of old.
She who is made of love has never experienced a love quite like theirs. But she knows this: ❝ Every moment with her is worth every moment without. ❞