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by
Wendy Heiss
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February 24 - February 25, 2025
Once, she’d even thought time had fallen in love with her, too. As she was no longer afraid of it, counting it or mourning it. And she’d been enamoured with the marks it had left on her skin, each faint wrinkle and freckle was a kiss or a touch it had grazed on her face as it passed.
Stories, true or not, she loved them. There was no story of her own, not one memory she thought could be good enough to graze a page, let alone belong in a book. All the lives she had lived were those others had written for her to read. And it was good enough for her. It truly was.
“Simple. Since when is death simple?” “It is but the simplest. Effortless. Certainly something we think about often, but we do not indulge it unless the nights are long or suddenly our skies feel grey or our heart feels empty. The thought of death is passing. Happiness is passing, too, but we chase it. Persistently. Constantly. We dream of it. Though we dream of death, too, but not because we want it.” She chewed on her lip. “Unless it is one of the above again. It does that…death does that, it chases us instead, even if it is in our dreams. And when we wake up, we decide to not think of it.
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“We have to romanticise our lives somehow.” “Why live in a dream when you can live in reality?” Because it was easier, and in her mind, she was the one in control.
Her eyes widened and then they shot up, towards the open glass ceiling of the tower where rain was beginning to hit the surface. She smiled at it like she smiled at books, with longing. “Rain. We haven’t had rain in months. I guess autumn is truly here. Not with us here, I mean,” she mumbled, returning to her duty, and Azriel considered discharging her of it entirely, so she could continue looking at the rain with the wonder he did not think rain deserved.
He didn’t know if he wanted to dissect her mind, or soak in every little explanation she had.
Her eyes rolled up again and stared directly into his, and Azriel liked that the most. He was feared and good at what he did, not many looked anywhere above his chin, let alone directly into his eyes.
“Just because things can be worse than they are does not mean they are not already bad enough. And no, I doubt Death would enjoy a sob story.”
Slowly, as if she was afraid she’d startle him, Winter grabbed his hand and put a spoon in it, even closing the fingers around the long silver handle. Azriel barely managed to focus on her words, too entranced by the way she was holding him and how she felt against his skin.
So, she’d had him followed. Had she also seen who he’d visited last night? Who he’d watched sleep?
He looked at her then, his eyes slowly travelling over her face. “She might not be wrong. I think you’re haunting me, too.” Her fingers curled under the long sleeves of her robes. “I’d offer an apology, but you’re not very keen on those.” Azriel went back to his books and pushed his glasses back. “Why would you apologise? Perhaps I like being haunted.”
“Winter,” he called after a while. “Yes?” “Why are you looking at me? Am I your task?” Yes, she wanted to say. I’d rather attempt every moment for the next four days to say or do something smart or funny and see if it can make you laugh again. It seemed harder than fighting Death, after all.
Her hand stopped when she noticed the page that had fallen open. Though what she saw was nothing gnarly or ugly or terrifying, she shivered when her eyes fell on the dark drawing of Death. A bony creature veiled in black torn robes and with bright red gleaming eyes stared back at her. “Would he laugh if I said you’re angry because you’re ugly looking?” she whispered to the drawing. “Yes.” She screamed and then caught herself on the first loud note, slapping a hand over her mouth when she noticed Azriel leaning against a shelf, taller than any shadow in the library and just as terrifying.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You want to hear me scream and shiver from fear, don’t you?” “I do,” he said, standing and heading towards the upper floor. “Just not from fear.”
“What can you tell me first?” “How about a tale told by a man who’d escaped him?” She gathered herself tightly. “Will I be able to sleep tonight?” “You can always join me if you can’t.”
For reasons still unbeknownst to him, he sought her closeness.
“You would be an impeccable storyteller.” A pretty one at that.
“You said chamomile helps with headaches. What tea helps with heart pains?” She thought about it for a moment, and sniffled. “Uhm, jasmine?” He nodded and turned to leave, only stopped by her hand clasping the edge of his jacket sleeve. One little move and he’d be holding her, touching her. “Where are you going?” But she needed a remedy for her sadness more than he needed one for his anger. “To get some jasmine tea for you.”
Very slowly, he pulled his hand away from her, his fingers lingering a little over her body. “Spend it with your friend. Spend it in the rain, smiling or sulking at it, whichever you want. You look pretty while sulking, too.” Winter’s lips parted as if to say something, but she only sucked in a sharp breath and closed them as she stared at him. “And you?” “I’ll finish early, too. If I am lucky, I might get to see you sulk or smile at the rain.”
Winter was now grinning at him, and that somehow always made him frown like he couldn’t make sense of it. “Take care of me when you turn me into a cockroach, will you?” He finally lowered himself down to her, crouching just above her, their faces closer. She thought him handsome even upside down like that. “You’re presuming I’d keep you.” “You’d keep me.”
His hand shot forward and tangled in her hair, and she froze still as he studied her locks, ignoring the trail of goosebumps that chased down her neck caused by his touch. “It changes colour in the sun.” But he was not done like Winter thought. His other hand moved to cup her face and titled it up to him. His skin was icy against hers. “And you have freckles. More than I thought.” He stopped for a moment, gazing straight into her eyes as if he was seeing them for the first time. “You’re a stunning creature, Winter.”
“Will you let me disturb you then?” Winter’s heart leaped along with her breath, still feeling his lips on her skin, and that burn grew intense again. “I do as you say.” His eyes gleamed. “Come here then.” “Where?” “Close to me.” “Why?” His mouth titled into a smirk. “Because you do as I say.”
“If Death saw the world with that amber-coloured lens of your eyes, little sun, he’d be doomed. He’d start sending people back to the land of the living before they even stepped on the gates of his world.”
“How do you do that, Winter?” he asked, pushing her red hair out of her face. “How do you remain so spirited in a world that has wanted to rob you out of it? How do you fight for others when no one has ever fought for you? How are you so understanding of others when no one has been understanding of you?” “I have, I think. I’ve laughed for me, fought for me, thought of me. I think,” she added, giving him a quivering smile. “You said that it is enough.” “It is. But I pity the world that holds you and doesn’t see you.”
“I want to bring you chamomile and biscuits and chocolates, but I don’t know if they can fix this, whatever that is hurting you.” “It’s alright, you brought me something else.” His voice was dark and hoarse when he asked, “And what is that?” “You.”
“I want you to kiss me, but we only have two more days to live.” She heard his sharp inhale, saw his chest rise like the thunder outside—as if it raged. “And I told you I’d save you,” he said, and then crushed his lips to hers.
“When I came here, I took an oath that I want to break,” she whispered. “But it would be a sin.” His eyes gleamed like two dark beacons, letting her know how to find him. “Then let’s make it a good one, how about that?” he said, smiling as he pushed her hair away from her face and peppered her cheeks with kisses.
“Maybe I should take it slow. Kiss and bite and lick every inch of your body to see how it makes you sound.”
“This is no damn sin. Look at you,” he said, his fingers sliding over her slick centre. “You’d make any man, God or not, fall on his knees and pray for damnation.” He kissed his way down her neck, marking her pale skin with his mouth. “Nothing would be holier than to be ruined by you.”
“If you want us to have an audience, I can call them back,” he said in her ear, groaning as his hips snapped against her. “You want us watched, Winter?” “No. Of course not,” she shakily breathed, her nails digging in his back. “Why not? I want the shadows and the light both to know of the crime I’ve committed by making you mine. That I’ve ruined the one thing pure left in this world. That only I can do it. That they are forbidden to ever want to ruin you. Look at me,” he ordered, cupping her jaw, and slowing his thrusts.
“What if I ask you to do that?” Slowly walking toward her, he tipped her chin up. “What if I ask you to look at me forever? Only at me. No one else.” “We don’t have forever. We only have two days,” she whispered, choking on her last words. “I will give you forever. I will make sure you get forever. So tell me. Truthfully.” She wanted to believe him, so she let herself pretend that she did. “Then I’d only ever look at you. Would you only ever look at me if I asked?” “You don’t have to. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at anyone else before you.” He cupped her jaw with a hand and kissed her.
He stopped and pointed to a few empty seats. “Take the window.” “Are you sure?” she asked. “The view is amazing. You can even see the sea for a good part of the journey. “I don’t want to look out of the window, Winter, I have something better to look at.”
Azriel was still looking ahead at the crowd when he said, “I don’t think what makes me happy is small by any means. Short, yes. But not really small.” “Short?” “You.”
“So, I’ll just whisper it then. You said happiness comes in many forms. Mine is shaped like you. Has a mind shaped like yours, and a voice I never want out of my head.”
Winter’s blood grew cold. She couldn’t…she couldn’t think what she was thinking. It couldn’t be true. He was Azriel. A Mage. He was Azriel, her Azriel. He couldn’t be anyone else. “Is that what you have been doing all this time? Trying to figure out how we’d kill you?” It was Miriam who had asked. “You gave your word that you’d look for a reason to stop your plague!” His plague. Death’s plague. His plague. Azriel’s.
He’d never had anything more divine in his hands. He'd never gazed at nothing more divine either. Nor from afar or up close. When he licked and sucked her sex, and she moaned his name like the sweetest curse, he realised he’d also never heard anything more divine either. Or tasted anything more divine.
“I’ll see you from afar, but you’re so stunning in this distance. This must be why they always warn to never fly so close to the sun.”
“It was my greatest honour,” she said, smiling up at him, at her dark God. “One thousand times over, I’ll do it again, only so I could be with you even if it is only for seven days.” There was something else she wanted to tell him, too, but time didn’t want her to fall in love with anyone else. It had made sure of it, as they now had no more of it. Time hated her. Time had always hated her. How could anyone explain this, how time had only given her seven days with him?
believe.” Azriel kissed her, and she kissed him back as if she was desperate for just one of his breaths. “Live, Winter. Live wanting. Live deciding. Live for you. And live…for me, too. Make it good, my little sun. Make it really good. I want to hear all about it. I will wait this time. I will wait for you. Do not come to me. Do not seek me. Not unless you wish to break my heart.”
All this time, she’d lived without a piece of her. A piece of her had already died with him that day. A piece of her was already in the land of the dead. She only hoped he’d held onto it tightly and had not forgotten her like she had never forgotten him.
“Hello, Winter. I’ve waited for you.” She froze at the words, sucking in a sharp breath and opening her eyes. His voice—she’d always loved his voice and had never forgotten it even after so many years. At the count of three, she spun around. Like time had frozen between that day and today, he stood there, tall and dark and smiling like he only smiled for her. One step at a time, one breath at a time, she walked to him, her hands reaching to touch him as he was reaching to touch her. “So have I.” She laughed and cried and laughed. “So have I.”
