Look, but do not touch.
It was his mantra for all pretty things, all things that he would inevitably break. She was one of them.
Her light was what drew them to her, drew him to her, what kept them all together. They were a strange, patchwork group of people- apostates and thieves and slaves and princes- but she was there, at their center, smiling and laughing and sucking them in with a devilish grin.
Sometimes, he'd let his touch linger a bit longer than necessary- his fingers brushing her skin when he healed a wound, his hand fluttering near her elbow, hovering over her shoulder. If she noticed, she didn't comment.
Yes, he would ruin her. He told her this. "I'll break your heart."
He refused to be the one to snuff out her light, and so he watched her through the years. Watched her move on and fall in love and watched the sorrow in her blue, blue eyes as she drove the knife into his gut.
But it was okay. It was for the best.