Our Secret Died With Him

On occasion, I’m at a loss for words.

You know that. You’ve seen it, like when your beauty becomes too much.

When I can’t quite look at you for too long without feeling like I’ve stepped into something I was never meant to have.

Not someone like me.

Not in a city like ours, where the fae walk in light and wings mark them as something closer to divine, and mortals like me are meant to serve quietly beneath them.

The first time your wings, pure white and brushed with gold, burst from your back, I forgot how to breathe.

They caught the light like something holy.

Something untouched by the kind of world I live in. So different from yours even though we take up the same space.

I remember thinking that nothing so beautiful should exist so close to me.

Or when our hands intertwined in the darkest of nights by the shimmering lake just beyond the lower city.

Your fingers fit between mine like they had been waiting for me all along.

The water reflected the sky, and for a moment it felt like we were suspended between two worlds.

One above us.

One beneath us.

And neither of them could touch us.

The irony is now the words won’t stop.

I’m alone in the underground caves beneath the city.

Pen in hand.

Hovering over this scrap of paper.

I meant to keep this brief.

I can’t.

There won’t be a second chance. By the time you read this, you’ll know what I’ve done.

Murder.

No self-defense.

No defense at all, if I’m honest.

And we both know if I stay, my life ends in a long, torturous night before death finds me in the morning.

I want to explain what happened.

I need you to understand why I couldn’t stop.

But I know you, my love.

You’ll be furious.

At me.

At how completely I’ve ruined the quiet life I had.

The why won’t soften it.

So I want to say this first:

I’m sorry.

Sorry this is our goodbye.

Sorry that no matter what I do, I can’t undo what I’ve destroyed.

My life.

My family.

And whatever small piece of you I was lucky enough to have this past season.

It would have been torture to watch you find a husband in the spring.

But you would’ve been near me.

I would’ve seen your smile, even from afar.

The way you lit up when the bakery had your favorite cakes.

The kind reserved for fae families like yours.

Dusted in gold.

Your whole face softened like the world had finally given you something you deserved.

I used to stand there longer than I should have.

Pretending to look at anything else.

Just so I could watch you without being noticed.

Flour still on my hands from the back room.

I would’ve taken the scraps.

Glances across crowded rooms that lingered a second too long.

The brush of your hand against mine when no one was looking.

The way you would press closer in passing.

Just enough for me to feel the warmth of you before you slipped away again.

The nights would be my favorite.

The quiet ones.

Where the world forgot about us.

Where you would pull me somewhere hidden.

Behind buildings.

Between trees.

Anywhere the dark was thick enough to keep our secret.

The way your breath would hitch when I touched you.

The way you said my name.

Like it was something you weren’t supposed to want.

Pretending nothing had happened.

Even as everything still lingered between us.

It would’ve been enough.

It always would have been enough.

Because you’ve always been worth everything.

And now I don’t even get that.

I have to run.

Far beyond anything I know.

I can never come back.

Not back here.

Not back to you.

If things were different, this is where I’d give you a place to meet me.

I’d beg you to come.

I’d take your hand and lead you somewhere untouched.

Somewhere your parents’ expectations couldn’t reach.

We’d build something small. Hidden. Ours.

A place where I wouldn’t have to pretend I didn’t belong to you.

Where you wouldn’t have to pretend you didn’t belong to me.

But, like I said, I know you.

You wouldn’t choose that life.

Not even for a moment.

And because I love you, I wouldn’t ask you to.

And because I love you, I know you won’t ask me to stay. To fight this together.

You want the husband.

The children.

The titles that come with them.