Wild ​Reverence

by Rebecca Ross

“Matilda,” I breathed. “He is here because he cares for you.”

It almost seemed as if she could not believe it—this idea that Bade had come out of love and not obligation—and I wondered what it had been like for her, growing up amongst powerful immortals. Had she never been told she was loved? Had her mother never held her and said such affirmations to her?

I knew this would be my fate when it came to loving her. She was everlasting; she was destined to come and go, like the cycle of seasons. And what was I? A humble mortal cursed to age and die. I was rooted to the ground, destined to return to the earth as dust. I could not hold her any more than I could the wind, but I loved her for it.

“I cannot pretend with you any longer,” she said. “I love you. I have loved you for a long time.”

We were doomed, she and I. One day, I would perish, and she would live on, endless as the stars. But if we were doomed, then let us fully embrace it.

“You will most likely be sick of me by then. I will be a crotchety old man who complains about the weather and anything that breaks our routine. I will be withered and silver and full of stories that I tell you, again and again, until you could recite them in your sleep.”

“But until then, let us feast and dance and sleep in each other’s arms. I am yours, Red. I will always be yours. Not even Death can change that.”

Dawn would never break the darkness. The fire would never burn to ashes. It would always be autumn, and the stars would never dim; the moon would never wane or wax.

I can foil death in my own way—not as great as your own, of course—and I can also catch a glimpse of what is to come, what is destined.

“But I think you know that the soul can be found in words, and words within the soul. The two reflect each other in the sky, do they not?”

Some stories claim that humans are beholden to the gods. But that is also not true. The divine is nothing without mortal hearts. And should we love them, we should not be punished for it.