Her soul was his to keep, heal, touch, guide, revive, steal, protect, and embrace. It was his, her fate threads knitted to him by his very own hands, and she was adored and loved by every bit of his newly created form.
She was the flower that bloomed in his dark ether, and he could finally nurture her the way she deserved. She was his sanctuary, and he wanted to be hers. The world would have to fear him if it dared to try and harm his precious, delicate – yet thorny – flower ever again.
Because Weldir was no longer a spirit of the void.
His heart held the wrath of alivinggod inside it, and the only thing stopping him, calming him, was this beautiful little Phantom, who soothed him as much as she toyed with him.
Their foreverness, entwined in body and spirit, had truly just begun – and it had only taken three hundred human years to get here.
Not that Weldir had been counting.
The end.
