Felix

✨Goddess to Mortal love✨ He feels it before he sees it. The room is too still. Not silent—he has known silence in the void between realms—but emptied. Like a held breath that forgot how to release. The air no longer hums when she moves. Light does not lean toward her the way it once did. She stands by the window, human shoulders wrapped in morning, fingers resting against the glass as if she could remember what warmth felt like by touching it. Outside, the city moves. People walk. Carriages pass. Life continues in imitation of itself. No birds. That is what breaks her. She turns slowly when he enters, as though gravity itself has become something she must negotiate. When their eyes meet, something ancient passes between them—recognition sharpened by grief. She has worn many faces across existence, but this one… this face learned how to love. And now it knows sorrow. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” she says softly, voice threaded with stars. “I only wanted to know them. To know you.” He says her name—no, not her name, the sound he gave her once when language failed him—and crosses the room in three strides. He stops only when he reaches her, as if afraid that one more step will prove she is already leaving. Outside, color drains gently from the world. Roses still bloom, but without ache. Laughter still exists, but never crescendos. Joy pauses just before becoming wonder. The Earth is missing something it does not know how to name. “They need me,” she whispers. “I feel it in the marrow of the world. I stayed too long.” One second passes. Then another. He falls to his knees, taking her hand. “Please,” he says, and the word cracks open something eternal. “Don’t go.” She inhales sharply. “I was never meant to stay.” She kneels with him, forehead resting against his, starlight trembling beneath skin made mortal. Her power thrums, restrained, aching to return to its proper place. “And if you stay?” he asks.