Page 62 of Laced in Longing

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” The words tear from my throat, raw with emotion I can’t contain any longer. Why doesn’t he get it? “You being here and risking everything just to be near me isn’t right!”

“Says who? Perhaps the Bright Gods, who trapped your soul in endless cycles of torturous reincarnation? The mortals, who have never seen or accepted you for who you truly are? Or is it just you, Maven? Just your fear speaking?”

Heat rages through my veins. “Don’t you dare,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare make this about my fear when you’re the one altering worlds to get what you want!”

“What I want?” His accompanying laugh is animalistic, and the hairs along my arms rise. “What I want is for you to be where you belong: in the Otherworld, with me, safe from the pain and emptiness. What I want is to give you everything you’ve ever longed for but been denied. What I want is to see you smile again. Hear you laugh and watch you become the perfect, radiant being you were always meant to be!”

Tears pricking at the corners of my eyes before I shout, “I never asked for any of that! I never asked for you to follow me across lifetimes, or to wait for me, or to love me! I never asked to be your perfect match or whatever the fuck the Bright Gods promised you!”

“No,” he agrees, his voice suddenly flat and dull. “You didn’t ask for it, but it’s what you are, nonetheless.”

The fight drains out of me all at once, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion that makes my limbs hang like lead. I sink down the wall, head in my hands.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, the words muffled against my palms. “I can’t be what you need me to be, nor can I be responsible for whatever happens if you stay.

I can’t live with myself knowing I’ll never be what you need, I don’t add but feel deep in my soul.

The mattress dips as he sits, closer without touching. Respecting the boundary I’ve established even as every cell in my body aches to lean into him. To feel the solid warmth of his presence.

“You are stronger than you know. You have faced death and rebirth hundreds of times. You have lived countless lives of joy and sorrow, of triumph and tragedy. You have endured more than any mortal soul should have to bear.”

“That wasn’t me. Those were other versions of me; ones I don’t remember.” The argument seems silly, but what’s left to say at this point?

“They were all you,” he insists. “Different circumstances, different experiences, but the same soul. My soul’s perfect match.”

The words slither down my spine, leaving a mixture of yearning and resistance. I know which one I’ll stick with.

Part of me wants so badly to believe him—to accept that I belong somewhere, with someone. The emptiness inside could be cured with one little word.

But the cost is too high.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe after several minutes, the words inadequate to the weight they carry. “I can’t join you in the Otherworld. Not now, maybe not ever. And you can’t stay here.” I gesture toward the window and door, where the echoes of conversations rise in volume.

“There must be another way. A compromise you’ll accept. Perhaps I could visit less frequently, or⁠—”

“No.” I cut him off, forcing firmness into my tone. “No more visits here or in my dreams. No more flowers, either. You need to go, Ash. For good.”

Every single molecule in the room stills as the man before me turns to stone. Something prickles over my skin.

“Is that truly what you want?” he asks, each word precise. Heavy. “For me to leave and never return?”

No, screams a voice inside me. No, it’s not what I want at all. I want you to stay. I want to learn what it means to be loved. I want to discover if the happiness I glimpsed in those memories and last night could be mine again.

But my wanting something has only ever brought misery to everyone involved.

“Yes.” I convince every fiber of my being to believe the bitter word on my tongue. The priest was right, I need to mean it. “That’s what I want.”

He stands in one fluid motion, his back to me. “Very well,” he says, almost robotic, his voice devoid of the warmth that usually colors it. “If that is your true desire, I will respect it and leave, Maven Talmay. I will not visit your dreams. I will not appear in your waking hours. I will leave you to the life you choose.”

Relief and despair war within me, neither winning clear victory.

This is the right decision. The only decision. So why does it feel like I’m tearing out a piece of myself?

“Thank you,” I manage, the words barely audible.

He faces me one last time, and though I can’t see his expression through the veil, I feel the weight of his gaze.

“If you change your mind—if you find yourself longing for me as I have longed for you these many centuries, know that I will not return. Though I will hear if you call for me.”