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“Considerably.”

She turns in my arms.

“Should I be worried?”

“Only about the furniture.”

Calla laughs.

Then rests her head against my chest.

I look toward the moonlit mountains.

And remember.

The silence.

The darkness.

The endless centuries trapped inside stone.

Three thousand years of watching the world pass without being able to touch it.

I once believed immortality was the cruelest punishment imaginable.

An eternity of existence without sensation.

Without companionship.

Without love.

Now I understand how wrong I was.

Immortality is not the curse.

Loneliness is.

And I am no longer alone.

I have a daughter who believes I am her prince.

A wife who still argues with me about traffic laws.

A dog who may or may not develop a lifelong fear of butterflies.

And a home filled with laughter, warmth, and more pink glitter than any respectable god should ever possess.

Calla tilts her head.

“What are you thinking about?”

I look down at her.

“How fortunate I am.”

She smiles.

“That’s unusually sentimental.”