The invitation came without words.
Aurel held out their hand, and Riven took it.
They crossed through the veil beneath the yew tree at midnight. On the other side: a world not ruled by fear, but desire. Color burned brighter here. Magic didn't hum—it roared. And everywhere, there was freedom.
In the Wild Court, they didn't ask what you were. They asked what you burned for.
Aurel guided Riven through moonlit gardens, where the flowers bloomed only when touched by truth. They danced on air currents through spiral towers, their laughter echoing like music. They swam in lakes that mirrored not your face, but your heart.
And that night, in a bed carved from woven spell-thread and silk shadow, Riven lay with Aurel under a sky that moved.
"Say it again," Aurel whispered.
"I'm not broken."
"No," Aurel said, their hand tracing circles on his bare chest. "You're magnificent."
They didn't sleep much.