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It was our story. It didn’t have to have a happy beginning or a happy ending, but the middle was a feast at a banquet, a rich soapy bath, a night’s rest at an inn and a full stomach, a warm chest nestled up against my back, the soft heat of lips at my nape, stories whispered in my ear.
There is magic in everything, only you must watch for it. It does not come from spells or potions or the sky, nor by special delivery of the gods. It is all around you. She had taken my shivering hands and clasped them between hers. You must find the magic that warms your skin in winter, the magic that perceives what cannot be seen, the magic that curls in your gut with fierce power and will not let you give up, no matter how long or cold the days.
Their work here wasn’t just a grudging gift to fulfill an agreement. It felt like far more. It felt like a wish stalk pressed to a blistered foot, like words spoken under a midnight moon to lull me to sleep.
She would never believe another word I said. Truth that came too late was as useful as a meal to a dead man.
