At first, she had to resist the urge to scream every time she saw him. But as months passed, as she grew to know him, to love him, the only urge remaining was to be with him always.
He grew to trust her enough to open up to her, to tell her his secrets. He told her how he became the way he was.
She cried. She sympathized. She didn't pity.
He showed her the rose; the mirror. She watched her father, her old acquaintances. He saw the pain in her eyes.
He let her go.
He couldn't handle it. He prepared to die.
The blade glittered as he brought it down towards his heart; his eyes clenched shut to prevent the tears from escaping.
It was stilled by a delicate hand; the owner of that hand wasn't doing anything at all to keep from crying.
The knife clattered to the floor. His hands went slack.
She had come back.
Suddenly, she jumped into his arms. His heart almost burst.
She kissed his mouth, and he kissed back.
Then the arrow pierced his back.
She watched in horror as her love fell to the cold stone floor. After everything, he was dying.
She dropped to her knees, pounding her fists into the ground until they bled. She raised her head and cried to the heavens. She cried out her anger, her outrage…her love.
"I love him!" she cried. "Don't dare to take him away from me!"
There was no answer, only the sound of fire, of screams, of mayhem.
Her head made contact with his still chest.
She watched the last velvet petal flutter.
She didn't know how long she lay like that, sobbing her heart out, but after an eternity she felt warmth encompass her.
It felt like heaven.
She had died of a broken heart.
"Open your eyes," his voice whispered gently.
She opened them, and found herself staring into a handsome face.
There was no confusion. It was him. It was her love.
"Are we in paradise?" she asked.
"No," was the reply. "We're on our bed."
She was instantly jumping at him again, embracing every inch of him she could.
"I love you," he said adoringly.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
The fallen petals glowed.