“You’re here,” whispered a tender voice as a supple hand stroked the Captive’s cheek. He awoke to a beautiful face staring down at him, silver-skinned with void-black eyes and short, bristled antennae protruding from her forehead. She twisted a lock of his hair as her warm breaths caressed his neck. “I thought I would never see you again. How long I’ve been trying to reach you… And here you are. Wanting to be here.”

His one good eye darted about as he tried to orient himself. The two lay on the same bed of stone in the same cold, brassy laboratory from which he’d escaped years ago, yet he was surprised to find that he was reasonably clothed, with no restraints clasped around his wrists and ankles. This was not a dream, nor was it fully real, a projection enshrouded in silence and the constricting sensation of smallness. Though he felt no urgency to leave, he was unsure how he ended up here, never having known himself to possess such abilities. Sensing his unease, the Captor pressed a finger to his lower lip, fidgeting with it.

“Where did you go?” she asked, eyes shimmering with worry and sadness.

“Back to Esyrene,” said the Captive, gently grasping her wrist to lead her hand away from his face. “I do not belong here.”

“You are time itself,” she said, “You belong everywhere, all at once.”

“I am no such thing.”

“Are you not?” The moment he let go of her wrist, the Captor reached up and stroked a finger over his vacant eyelid. “Even now, a chorus led by Tem Talur’s voice resonates within you. You need only to accept the final transplant.”

“But I will not,” said the Captive. “And it is best that you give up on your search for a vessel. Your cult has lied to you. You cannot bring him back.”

“Someone has deceived you, that you would believe that. How deeply those seeds have rooted themselves,” said the Captor. She drew back, sitting herself upright. The short, bristled antennae protruding from her forehead twitched with irritation. “Why did you come back here, then? Are you cruel enough that you would return just to taunt me, or are you unconvinced by your own notions of what you truly are?”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“I did not come here of my own volition,” said the Captive, pushing himself up into a seated position as well.

“And I do not appear to those who want nothing from me. I have tried in vain for years. In this state, I cannot make you stay – I cannot make you do anything you don’t want to. That is the work of fate, not me, so tell me why you are here.”

The Captive searched every crevice of his mind for an answer. He could think of no rightful reason why he would want to be here, why he would want to find himself once more in the place where he was subjected to torture and disfigurement. Moreover, he did not know why he wanted to be anywhere near the one who brought him this torment, leading him in with such alluring lies. But as he looked upon her mournful face – eyes that once smiled with him, lips that once slipped impassioned gasps and sighs into his ear – he descended into a raging battle against his own subconscious.

“I want to say goodbye,” he said.

“Why?” asked the Captor, bringing a hand to her chest. At a loss, she averted her gaze, trying to find her words. They came only after a great effort to understand. “I am no one you would say goodbye to. No matter how much I loved you, you never felt the same way.”

The Captive shook his head, his lips drawn with a bitter thinness as he stood, ready to leave.

“I can assure you that one thing is clear: You love nothing but the idea of your dead god.”

Before he had a chance to walk away, the Captor sprung onto her feet and grabbed him by the wrist. Dust fell from her wings, glittering as did her tears.

“You don’t want to leave yet,” she said. Not a second later, his arm curled around her waist. She gasped as he tightened his hold to pull her closer. Heights nearly matched, they stood nose-to-nose, each hesitating as their shallow breaths grazed the other’s lips. She rested her hand on the side of his neck, sending a tingle rippling down his spine as her thumb pressed against his jaw. At the very same moment, they both broke through their uncertainty and met in the middle with a kiss.

As he brushed a hand against her shoulder to let down the strap of her dress, the soft warmth of her skin melted everything away – his doubt, his dignity, his better judgment. All reasoning slipped away from him, leaving no more thoughts spinning around in his head as her dress crumpled to the floor. She soon eased into deepening their kiss while pulling up at the bottom of his shirt. Once she’d coaxed it off of him, he leaned towards the bed, laying her down.

In this liminal space, if she could not hurt him, neither could this; it was only one last time, after all.