Ariel lay still, her head resting against the fabric of Raphael's tunic, her golden eyes staring at the endless sky above. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his presence—it all reminded her of simpler times. Times before the weight of fate, before the struggle between duty and desire.
She closed her eyes. "I want to go to him," she whispered.
Raphael ran his fingers gently through her wavy white hair, his touch light, soothing. "I know," he said softly.
Ariel clenched her hands into fists, gripping the fabric of her dress. "Then why can't I?"
"Because it is not yet time," Raphael answered, his voice carrying the patience of someone who had lived long enough to understand that time itself was a teacher.
Ariel huffed, frustration bleeding into her voice. "But why not? We are fated to be together! You know this. Everyone knows this. And yet, I'm here while he's there—struggling, fighting, suffering. Alone."
