Her wings are ripped from her body. Neck broken, she plummets to certain death in a shower of blood, bone and flame.
Crying, he pursues, but he cannot catch her. Yet there is one last chance. So he bends the forces to his will and puts forth his power.
They say that he is invincible, but, in the face of this monumental and terrible task, he is fated to overstep. His body is knit too tightly to break, when a lesser being would have been torn apart; but this is too great for even immortals to endure. The recoil destroys the gate beyond repair. His palms are shattered; his eyeballs implode.
Her life is saved, but not her body. The atoms reshuffled, but left the remnants of her wings as a memory of her old frame.
His wings are intact, but he is broken beyond the powers of transmutation. No more power comes through this node, for those hands are crippled and the gate nullified. The eyes that could shed no tears now weep ceaseless blood, as a reminder of that sacrifice that only saw their positions reversed.
She may well live forever, but with each day he dies a slow death, before her eyes. And she cannot give comfort, for there is no more warmth in her hands.
Should he perish like this, knowing that she cannot live without him any more than he can without her? Is such a fate worth the sacrifice? Can love do such a thing?
(written 11 July 2006)