— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
He did not deserve anyone that would stand with him as the world—his world, at least, a world where his curse was bearable—ended. But it would be a lie to say that he did not appreciate it, that to have her next to him lifted a weight he had not realized his shoulders carried. He wants nothing more than to pull her tight against his chest, to feel the way her heart leapt against her skin to thrum against his. He wants to press his lips into the familiar warmth of her flesh, whisper to her in that way he only does for her, but that feeling of being entirely undeserving of her keeps him anchored where he stands.
She doesn’t allow that distance to exist between them, of course, closing it and drawing him back in with her soft touch against his bones, and he allows himself to sink into her. It stirs the distant part of him that wants to hope that this darkness will not last forever, because darkness never has, and he cannot imagine a life where he can no longer touch her. But he has never been the kind for hopes and dreams, and it is much easier to drown in negativity and despair than to swim against the current of it. And she continues to be his lifeline, and he clings to the glow and the warmth of her, even if he has nothing to offer her in return. Though he wants to disagree with her, wants to point out all the reasons that she should not be here with him, he is far too selfish to say them.
Instead, he can only drink her in, the bone of his nose buried beneath the strands of her mane and the flowers tangled there. Though he no longer has the lips to form a smile it is still there, taking shape in his voice when he says light-heartedly, “Don’t tempt me.” This time when he gets the urge to pull her closer he does not fight it. With his head over her neck he tugs her in, anchoring her to his side, and for now, he does not fight the serenity that she offers him.
She says that she is well, but the way that she keeps tensing and sucking in sharp breaths that she thinks he will not notice tells him otherwise. When she presses into him he instinctively holds her tighter, and he almost does not notice the twilight that blooms from his bones. It takes him a moment to realize her skin is no longer against the hard angle of his skeleton but instead curled into the softness of shadow and light, taking shape across his face so that the surprise that settles there is visible, no longer just an unreadable plate of bone. He can feel her kiss against him just as he would before, and it sends an involuntary shuddering throughout his body. “Wonder,” her name is an almost breathless growl in the back of his throat, confusion and awe alight in the strange twilight of his eyes. “How did you do that?” because he knows it was her, knows that no one else could have possibly crafted him an entirely new body made of shadowlight.
He shakes his head and draws her back in again, hungrily sweeping his lips up her jaw and into the groove of her throat. When he pushes his nose beneath the strands of her mane to press a trail of kisses there and finds the damp skin beneath his chest clenches, halting his greedy exploration of the body he already knew so well. “Nevermind,” he murmurs, taking note again of her uneasy breathing. He has been present for the births of all of their children save for Flower and Tangled, and as badly as he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her touch and the amazement of this strange show of magic, he can recognize that now is not the time. Instead, he lifts a shadowy wing to drape across her back, and gently presses a kiss to the soft spot behind her ear, resting his nose near her mane to ask, “Where do you want to go? I don't think we will make it back home.”
— and I'll make you remember my face —
