Ben and I led long lives—extraordinarily long by medieval standards, decently long by modern ones. Our time together was pure bliss. We were perfect. I don't mean that in the way so many people do—that false sense of conviction. We were perfect enough to never have a fight. We had lived the fate of all soul mates who commit to each other. We lived blissfully together for the rest of our lives. He never doubted how much I love him (utterly, entirely, and completely), and he never let me doubt in return. I suppose that's why my death was so hard on him. We died within days of each other or at least we will. He's drawing his last breaths now, surrounded by our many children and their spouses and children. It's a varied grouping. Our eldest are parents themselves; though, our youngest is only fourteen—she was a surprise—she's both engaged and the same age I was when I died the first time, but she's a child to me still. Losing both her parents in such a short span of time will be hard for her, though I know she'll be fine. She's strong, keen, and resilient. She'll grieve for a time, but she'll move on eventually—all of our children will. I'm sure of it.

I wait for him here by the gate to heaven. Well, not heaven exactly. That's probably the best term for it, though. I don't mean heaven like the biblical heaven that's etched itself into the collective human mentality (or rather, the collective European human mentality). I mean heaven as the place that soul mates who fulfill their promises—not tempted from their path—go for the rest of eternity. I've gathered this information from the others waiting by the gates. You'd think waiting outside paradise would make people bitter, but these people are the farthest thing from bitter. These are people who've conquered all the obstacles of love and are simply waiting for their other half to join them. It's not anger here, its joy and patience. Some of these are like me—former Ambassadors or even a Mercenary or two. Romeo and I weren't the only ones fighting, I know that, but the numbers came as a surprise. That's another thing about this place that assures me its heaven—there is awareness here. It's not hell or purgatory. It's not punishment or limbo. Ah, there. His spark is growing fainter—his suffering is almost at it's end.

As tears leek from the eyes of people gathered around his deathbed, as the light in his eyes fades, as his eyes close for the last time in that world and open for the first time in this world, I smile and throw myself into his arms. We are together again. He crushes me to him in the purest of contradictions. It's that gentleness I remember from when I jumped into the driver's seat of his car that fateful night, when he rescued me from that tomb, when we were married with the exact vows I spoke once before, when we reunited after a long day, when each of our children were born, and when we awoke each day. The gentleness fills me with a warmth and joy separate from the other half of our embrace. His embrace is also strong and unbreakable. It's a promise that he will never let me leave his side again.

"I love you," I murmur into his rich, fine hair. It's no longer the grey of our last decade, but the vibrant tone I remember from our youth—from when we first fell in love. He's youthful once more—as young as he was at the dawn of our love. I suppose I expected it—that's how I appear as well.

"As I you," he whispers in return.

"It's not 'til death do us part' now."

"Thank all that is good and holy."

We kiss.

And kiss some more.

And kiss even more.

There will be time later to explain everything to him, but for now, we revel in the presence of each other. We are together once again.

There will be time later, I suppose, to explain the situation to him, to walk with him to gates, to face our final trial, and to obtain "forever."

But for now, I kiss him, and he kisses me. It's like our first kisses all over again. He still tastes of that taste so uniquely Ben, and it's still the same sensation making my knees weak and my head spin. Six decades of this on Earth and hopefully an eternity of this in heaven.