"Bring me buttercups and sunshine," she had told him on that last day. "Bring me a songbird and one wild rose and pull off its thorns one by one and lay them at my feet. Bring me the brightest star and as we burn up in its outskirts tell me you love me then."
He had stood frozen as she laughed at him, bright as the sky and as dark and as unreachable.
Of all the fates, Desire was the most beautiful and the most cold. His love for her gnawed at his insides.