The sword was pressed to his throat as she stood in front of him, holding it in place - a threat but not really an ultimatum - as she gave herself time to simply look at him. Tears dripped down her cheeks, stained red where they stung the edges of the thin red ribbons that scarred her cheeks in crimson liquid. Her hand shook, cutting tiny gashes into his pale skin, not deep enough to bleed, not deep enough to be felt. And yet every time she moved, even to blink, another bullet of pain tore its way through his heart.
"I could kill you, here and now, and no-one would even be there to mourn," she said quietly, eyes meandering around the room. Looking anywhere but into his. They were too achingly beautiful, too much the dead opposites of her own creamy caramel: a deep, fathomless blue that tore at the cavity somewhere in her chest where her heart had once resided.
Not anymore, not after him.
But in this moment, he was hers.
He saw it in slow motion as the sword dropped to the floor, heard it faintly as the ringing slapped her ears, and looked up at her, pale hair outlining the pained, pleasing expression that his delicate features betrayed. That was an image that would stay in both of their heads for forever and a day - the metal bouncing in slow motion, and the dark eyes that found each other in a mutual understanding of a shared need, a shared pain, a shared past that no one else could ever quite break in on.
"But you know I won't." Her words shattered the aeonless silence that had held their imaginations and feelings hostage for the last - well, neither knew how much time had passed, but it seemed to have been an eternity.
She took a step towards him, both of them knowing that he wouldn't move, and she wouldn't stop moving, and knowing exactly what would happen in a terrible symphony of what had happened so many times before.
Yet this was the curtain call. This was the final performance.
She swept forward in what was meant to seem a sudden, but was in truth so perfectly choreographed and planned that it was anything but, gesture, and swept his lips into hers as the universe's orchestra began to crumble around them, picking up speed only to snap the bow so perfectly crafted to play the violin of their doomed love story.
Her lips tasted of the worlds she had seen, and the words she didn't need, and the wishes she would never get to make. His lips tasted like the regret of a thousand lifetimes, and the pain he had felt so many times it didn't hurt anymore, and the hope that he'd clung on to for so long it ached, somewhere deep in his soul.
And then they broke away, stumbling mutually yet perfectly backwards, and she bent down.
The sword graced her hand, curving to her touch like a master returning to his blessed fatherland in search of his teacher.
He stood with a dejected pride, a painless torture, an expressionless pain that tore his heart yet left no tangible scar.
Quickly. It was over quickly, just like she'd promised.
Yet the dance was not.
Even as his lifeless body crumpled to the floor with a serene smile, she broke down sobbing, crouching with his head in her lap, crying out as she never had before, through a million lifetimes in a million universes. She took the sword's edge even as her tears flooded, cleansing it with the pure emotion, and cut gently, slowly into the skin of his arm.
One simple sentence; one simple phrase.
I once promised you worlds.