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They meet, again and again, at dusk when the sky is aflame and the sun melts along the horizon. It is a sliver of time when both their auras can coexist; hers is the sun that shines and burns and hers is the moon that gleams and glows. She does not know how she came to be so blessed, for she has set alight everything she’s ever tried to love and been left with nothing but ashes for her efforts.
Chloe waits for her at the forest’s edge, draped in diaphanous robes that wink with starlight.
“Hello my love.” She greets with a smile and North yearns for her like a ravenous fire ever hungry for more. “You’ve returned from your travels. How fares the city?”
“Loud and smelly and rude.” North shrugs, slinging down her rucksack in favour of gathering her into her arms and spinning around for no other reason than to hear her bright laughter.
“So nothing’s changed, hm?” Her eyes twinkle with mischief and such light to put the stars to shame.
“Everything’s new and somehow still the same, yes.” She noses her long blonde tresses, drowning in the scent of wildflowers to banish the stench of the city away.
“It’s a full moon tonight.” Chloe whispers, her body thrumming with energy. “We shall dance.”
“We shall.” North confirms, cupping her face to seal their lips together. “And we will weave our magic as one.”
And so they do. Her magic is rough, is brazen and merciless, is all encompassing and demanding. It burns up all her energy and claws for more and she uses it to forge weapons, she uses it like a blade between the ribs of the unjust, she uses it as a pyre upon which to throw those that abuse their power. Chloe’s magic is cold, silken smooth like drinking spring water still icy from winter’s frost. Her magic is old, ancient and timeless and revered, and she uses it to heal, to unmake something made, to unbreak something broken. North worships her with her words, with her mouth, with her fingers, and she is an ancient god forgotten until now and North will make sure she’s never forgotten again.
Come the morning, when dawn paints copper against the inky swathes of night, North stirs as Chloe’s power wanes. Her beloved’s golden tresses are tangled with leaves and crushed flowers, her breath soft and warm, her body bare and deliciously bruised. She traces her fingertips along the masterpiece that is her ancient goddess, her moonlight witch, her ever enduring love. There’s honey, sugar crystals, morning dewdrops, dried petals, and powdered bloods in her rucksack, her spoils from the city where her friend runs a store with his beloved. They will make potions today, gathering the fruits of the forest to grind, to boil, to ferment. She will journey with those potions in a week’s time, back out to the city where her friend runs a store with his beloved so he may sell them in their stead.
For now, though, she is not going anywhere. Chloe sighs, burrowing closer for warmth and she is perpetually cold and North perpetually burns. She’s rendered to ashes everything she’s ever tried to love, except Chloe. No harm will ever come to her because they will have to fight the inferno first.