I've heard others speak of such phenomena—lovers whose magic yearns for their counterparts with force that transcends conscious choice. Bonds that draw compatible souls together regardless of physical separation. The particular hunger that develops when Fae find their matches and cannot bear extended absence.
Was she the one yearning for my presence?
Did her newly awakened magic cry out for something it recognized, something it needed, something only I could provide?
Or was my magic seeking a source of comfort—a presence that might rejuvenate the purpose that feels so desperately absent since Nikki's departure?
The questions have no clear answers.
Perhaps both explanations are true.
Perhaps neither is.
Perhaps the nature of bonds defies the kind of logical analysis I'm attempting, existing in spaces where reason holds less authority than instinct, where understanding matters less thanexperiencing.
"GREEEE!"
The sound makes me blink, attention snapping from internal contemplation to external interruption with the particular alertness that survival in dangerous environments has cultivated.
Grim appears before my face.
But not the Grim I'm accustomed to seeing.
The little reaper who usually exists as shadow and void—darkness given form, death made adorable—hovers before me in a state that defies everything I thought I knew about his nature. Heglows. Not with the bioluminescence that fills our cocoon, but with golden majestic energy that radiates from his tiny form like sunlight from a miniature star.
His robes, usually trailing wisps of shadow that never quite touch the ground, now shimmer with fabric that seems woven from dawn itself. His scythe—the blade that usually carries the particular darkness of endings and transitions—has transformed entirely. The handle has become living wood covered in thorns and flowers, growth spiraling along its length in patterns that echo the cocoon surrounding us. The blade itself gleams golden rather than void-black, edge still sharp but now carrying the particular beauty of harvest rather than the terror of death.
His eyes blink at me.
Golden hollow glowing eyes where darkness should be, the void that usually defines his gaze now filled with light that seems almost confused by its own existence. He frowns—the expression somehow conveying clearly despite his skull-like features—as if he realizes something feels wrong but can't identify what.
I pout at the sight, amusement surfacing through the hollow ache in my chest.
"Well," I croak, voice rough from sleep and whatever emotions have been plaguing me. "Guess this bubble shifts everyone that's in it?"
The observation emerges with the particular tone of someone trying to find humor in circumstances that defy easy understanding. My magic created this cocoon, and apparently that magic is powerful enough—or specific enough—to transform even a being like Grim into something that matches its aesthetic.
Light rather than shadow.
Growth rather than ending.
Gold rather than void.
Grim looks my way, those unfamiliar golden eyes holding mine with obvious confusion about his current state.
I smirk despite everything—despite the hollowness, despite the grief I can't quite name, despite the weight that presses against my chest with every breath. With a snap of my fingers, magic responds to my will, water gathering from moisture in the air to form a swirling mirror that hovers before the transformed reaper.
The surface smooths into perfect reflection.
Grim looks into it.
"GREEEEEEE!"
The exclamation carries shock that transcends species, the little reaper staring at his golden reflection with the particular alarm of someone who doesn't recognize themselves. His scythe rises into the air as if to strike at the mirror, defensive instinct responding to perceived threat before conscious thought can intervene.
"Shh," I warn, the sound gentle but insistent. "You're going to wake Gwenievere up."
The words emerge automatically, protective instinct surfacing without conscious direction. She needs rest—I can feel it through whatever connection binds us, the particular depletion that comes from magical awakening and physical exhaustion and the general chaos that has defined recent days.
