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For once, Abramar was unsure of how to proceed. It was unlikely that he would get off scot-free, if he botched the deal he had made with the witch and even better, seeing the reluctant acceptance in her expression somehow failed to help comfort him even one bit. He would be upsetting her either way, there was no way around it.
He wondered, sometimes, what it would have been like if they hadn’t made that deal. If Fortuna hadn’t asked for it, would he have stayed, would he have let himself be bound to her, let himself be connected in this way that tore him apart at the seams at the mere thought of it? Probably not, though there had always been something intriguing about her, even in that first meeting, even at that first glance.
He was no expert but, wasn’t that what mortals called love at first sight?
There was a time he denied it to himself, times when he had doubted himself and yet seeing Fortuna, HIS witch, be so busy, so flooded with connection and people, so eager to get back to some alone time that even he had failed to find a time when she wasn't otherwise occupied or asleep to talk to her; it displeased him greatly.
Now, waiting for her to call out to him, he knew for certain that he loved her.
Sure, there were times where she had been cold, times when she had expressed interests in others, times when it seemed she did not want his company at all but, there were the late-night talks, before it all became so complicated, the confessions of their deepest traumas, their greatest wishes.
Fortuna had said that he had saved her life.
And now, pulled between one choice and the next, he didn’t know what to do. If Fortuna were to hate him forever for her own choices, he could live with it. He couldn’t live with the thought of not seeing her ever again, in fact, he would not be living at all. Not as himself at least. His form would make stardust and fly in all directions and fuel magic but he, Abramar, would not be there to witness it. He confessed his love to her. She did so back. It tore at his very being, the thought of separation, of hatred after such a beautifully peaceful moment in the stars. She promised she wouldn’t hate him.
He couldn't risk it.
He shouldn’t risk it.
Not for anything.
Yet, Fortuna cried as the very fabric of the universe pulled at him, screamed and scrambled with her cards, trying to fix it all. As if she could. The cosmic wheel turned and turned. It spoke to him, it lulled him into the abyss, slowly, painlessly.
Abramar accepted his fate.
He had seen it all, felt it all, wanted it all, lost it all, gained it all again.
He had accepted it all.
Which is why he was so confused at waking up in Fortunas bed.