Beneath the Silver Moon
And it is—not because I’m alone, but because the cost must be paid by the heart that wears the crown.
His lips hover near mine, close enough that I feel the promise radiating from him—an offering, not a demand.
“Then let me stand where the lightning falls,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in him, no fear. Only devotion, wild and unyielding.
The silver inside me stirs, not with warning, but with approval—an ancient recognition, a silent blessing for what we’re about to become.
I close the last inch between us. The kiss is not frantic or desperate; it’s a vow spoken in warmth and certainty, unhurried and true. It promises a future we’ll fight for, whatever it costs.
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