He needed to remember her as a girl of seventeen, her long blonde hair trailing behind her as she ran after him.
His animal forms had let him outrun her, but she found his hiding place eventually. Knuckles rapped on his coffin lid ceaselessly, forcing him to confront her, to listen.
"Come with me," she said with a smile. Her eyes were full of compassion, of need, of love.
He could have refused, but he didn't. Years later, he still didn't know why.
It was strange at first. He settled in awkwardly, unable to truly live life as a mortal. But she was understanding. She forgave easily, and forgot quickly. It was in her nature to be vivacious, like a whirlwind, unable to stop for anything or anyone. She had life enough in her for both of them.
The feelings came in a rush. She had been blushing at the sight of him ever since she first laid eyes upon him, but the heat in her blood soon smoldered in her eyes. Those embers began to reflect in his own gaze, his own soul. The wanting, the needing, the loving. And he was afraid.
But he didn't leave. One day she was in his arms, as though she had always been there and he simply hadn't noticed. One day he woke up beside her. One day she was holding a child, their child.
The child grew fast, too fast. A boy became a man before his eyes. And while he blossomed, his mother withered, growing old. Going blind. Going deaf.
He turned away from her and was ashamed for it. It hurt to see her like that.
She took his hand in hers, clutching it with all that remained of her strength, and he knew it was still her, that she still needed him, still loved him.
Their son went away, found a wife, settled down. They stopped hearing from him. And he knew then that he had to stay with her until the end.
She went quietly. He tried to make it as painless for her as possible. But all she really wanted was him, his presence, his hand in hers. That was enough.
He needed to remember her as a girl chasing after him, unwilling to let him go on alone.