The voice did not belong to a god. Nor did the sudden desperation that jumped up against the inside of his ribs, screaming, Do it, do it right now. Take the power, take the heart. It was always meant for you. He had prayed she would understand. She had become everything he dreamed she would be. Had known she could be. He was so proud of her that he thought his heart, mortal or god, would burn with it. But Mische did not move. A tear rolled down her cheek.
