I cried so hard writing this.
You see him for the first time walking home to your small cottage. He's staring up at the moon with a mix of sadness and longing. You can tell that, even without speaking to him, he's seen the world at its worst by the way he holds his shoulders.
The second time you see him you have to blink a few times to get past his extravagant taste in clothing. Were wild colors and stones that blinded you some kind of new fashion? You hope not.
The third time he's at the tavern where you work. He orders wine and nothing else. He drinks and drinks and you're amazed by how he manages to stay sober. With curiosity you ask him where he's from. He never actually answers you, but you know it's not around here. This man was otherworldly in a sense.
The fourth time you had just finished cleaning up and saying goodnight to the family who owned the tavern and started to head home. Some men try to accost you, and you have no means of escape. They tear at your dress and touch you in places no one has the right to. He saves you. You aren't sure how, but in mere seconds the men are unconscious and he is by your side asking if you are all right as you black out. He isn't there when you wake up in your own home, tucked into your own bed, all the bruises and cuts you got gone.
The fifth time is at the graveyard. You were visiting your parents' grave when you see him at a grave with a name that had long since faded away. You thank him for rescuing you. He smirks and for a moment you could have sworn his eyes turn gold and cat-like. He takes you home yet again and you're somewhat cautious because you never told him where you lived, he just knows as if by instinct.
He's at the tavern again and again, and every night when you've finished, he takes you home. The village people have begun teasing you about your new-found protector and you frown. You don't want to be protected.
He laughs when you tell him to stop babying you. He says he can help it, because to him you are a baby. You furrow your brow in confusion. Aren't you the same age?
The family you work for tell you to just marry the man. This makes you uneasy because you've never thought about him like that, and besides, he isn't the type for marriage. You've never been so wrong.
You love him. You love him and you tell him so. He only smiles gently down at you and gathers you in his muscular arms. You run away with him.
You never thought eloping would be so easy. When he said he had everything covered, he meant it. In a matter of days you two already had a house and small farm with rich land and a water well with the cleanest water you've ever had. You wonder how he did it. These things don't just pop out of thin air, after all.
He likes to watch you sleep. Not in a creepy way, but because he's always the first one up, he plays with your hair and caresses your face until you wake. At night he holds you close and murmurs sweet nothings in your ear in the place of bedtime stories. He repeats over and over how much he loves you.
Five years pass by, and you ask him why he hasn't changed a bit. You ask him how you've never had a bad crop or how none of the animals ever get sick from the diseases that affected the villages close by. He asks you why you can't just be happy with it all. You tell him you are, but you want answers. Answers he isn't willing to give.
You want a child, but he rejects the idea right away. You scream you want a family. You scream you want to be a mother. You cry you want him to stop being so cold and tell you why he can't give you the one thing you've desired since you were small because you never had the chance to be raised properly by your own mother. She died before she had the chance. He once said his father was powerful and a monster, and his stepfather a coward that got what he deserved. Doesn't he want to try himself with you? To raise a child away from all that hurt and watch it grow up into a beautiful adult? He becomes furious.
He finds you crying in the loft of your barn. He pulls you onto his lap and now that you're close you can tell he's been crying, too. Stroking your hair, he tells you he's sorry. He tells you that he wants more than anything to give you what you want, to have a child with your eyes and nose, and his hair and taste in clothes. He wants a baby girl for you to raise into a wonderful young woman and for him to be overprotective and proud of. He wants the child to have your sweet smile and laugh with his sense of humor. He wants a boy, too. Nothing too specific with this one. He makes you laugh and holds you tighter, breathing in the scent of your hair.
He says that it can never happen.
Before you can ask why yet again, he shows you something he says he should have shown you ages ago. He shows you his magic. And he tells you everything. He tells you why having children with you would be too painful.
You're mesmerized by the way he plays with fire that doesn't burn in his hand and let's you touch. It tickles.
You suppose you should be worried that since he is immortal that you will eventually age and die while he remains the same, living on in the world without you. You have no doubt he'll find someone else after you're gone, it's only natural, after all. He will find someone new to devote himself to while you watch from heaven, a place where he can't follow.
Will he forget you? No. He isn't capable of such a thing. He'll go on, living with a wound he refuses to let heal and dream about you at night, dream about the children you could have had and hear your voice in his head when he unintentionally asks you to hand him something, forgetting you're not there. But he will continue on in life.
That night he cherishes you more than you thought was possible. His touches are like fire, yet they leave cherry blossoms in their wake. His kisses are fierce, and you can feel his conflicting emotions that make him want to rip out his hair, cry, laugh and die all at the same time. His love is bittersweet and consuming.
If he had his way, he would turn you immortal and spend eternity with you. The only problem was that he loved you too much to do such a thing.
You both knew that a relationship between a warlock and a human could never last, but you were too far gone to stop.
If you were going to leave him by himself one day with a broken heart and tears that would never quite dry then so be it.
He would only let you go when you're dead.
Years pass and you feel old age creeping up on you. You look in the mirror and know that you're passed your prime. Your hair has begun to turn silver and crows feet and laugh lines have become permanent residents on your once perfect face. However, he doesn't seem to see them.
You frown because despite him actually being hundreds of years older than you, he still looks like the same dashing young man with wild tastes that you met decades ago. You joke about it in front of him, and cry behind his back. You're time with him is running out far too quickly.
He buys you a new dress. Even though you've aged, he still gets you things that make you feel young. He spins you around and around your home in a clumsy waltz.
He brings home a kitten that looks very much like a hamster as a surprise for you. He says he's never really liked cats because of his eyes, but he says that because you love the way his eyes are he wanted to give them a try. At first it doesn't go well and he starts muttering about taking it back, but you slowly show him how to care and handle the small animal and soon the two are practically inseparable. You laugh because at night the kitten curls up in between the two of you and you hold it close. He pouts because he's jealous. You smile because you finally got the child you wanted, and he kisses your forehead because that was his intention all along.
You cough. It's not because you're sick, it's because your time is simply about to run out. Your hair is white and brittle, your eyes are sunken in, and your body hurts for no reason at all other than the fact it's beginning to shut down. He still says you're the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, and you squeeze his hand lovingly because you know that, to him at least, you are. And that's enough for you.
You watch solemnly as he uses his magic to try and heal you. To try and prolong your life by another year - no, another week, another day. You reach out and with a weak, bony hand wipe away his frustrated tears and massage his temple. He said he wouldn't try to go against nature - go against God and try to keep you a little longer. You knew he was lying back then, of course.
"Magnus," you're voice comes out raspy and nothing at all like the sing-song tone it used to hold. His head snaps up and you can see the desperation in his eyes. His eyes that seemed so out-of-place with his youthful body. His eyes that held centuries of pain and knowledge. His eyes that showed his real age. "Tell me a story." You say quietly.
You can feel the end coming up. Originally you thought you'd be terrified, but you're not. You actually feel relieved in a way. Sure, you hate that you're leaving the man you love behind to suffer alone in this cruel, merciless and beautiful world, but you accept it. It's time and there's nothing you can do about it other than wait for death to claim you so you can venture into the realm that angels sing about.
The only thing you want is to die listening to his voice.
He holds your wrinkled hand to his face and gives a pain-filled, cheeky grin. "What, you want me to tell you the story of the three bears and a silly girl who was a selfish glutton?" He chuckles.
You feel your grandchild, the only kitten of your child's litter that you kept, jump onto the foot of the bed and curl up comfortingly on top of your feet. The animal must know that it's time, you thought. You remember when you told him that you wanted to keep one kitten from each of the descendants litters, saying that it was as close to being a grandmother as you could get. He laughed, calling you a crazy cat lady, but agreed nonetheless. You knew he'd continue to keep one of the kittens long after you were gone. He was just like that.
Smiling, you look up at him with that same mischievous twinkle in your eyes that you always had when you were younger. "If that's the only story you know, then I suppose it's all right."
He strokes your face with his thumb. "Hmmm... actually I think I've got one."
"Good." You laugh lightly.
Pulling a thoughtful face, he begins his story, "Once upon a time there was a sexy and magnificent warlock..."
"Did he have bad taste in clothing?" You tease, feeling your eyes beginning to droop.
"On the contrary, his tastes were marvelous,"
"Is that so...?" You whisper, letting your eyes close.
"Yes," you can hear his voice falter. "And one day this sexy and magnificent warlock met a young and beautiful girl..."
You start slipping into what feels like the most peaceful sleep you've ever had, his voice fading slowly into the distance.
"And he fell hopelessly in love..."
It'll be okay, you know this for a fact. He'll go on. He always will.