His vessel, as always saffron curls, sky-blue eyes, his wings tightly by his back. He sees her for first time in centuries and recognizes on third glance: at first- she's just bright figure across the room, second time she's something familiar, yet he can't quite tell, and there's third- and recognition hits him with all the power of Thor's hammer. He's terrified because it's Her, because he'd always recognize those wings, invisible and camouflaged in colours of the night, but she's different, she's changed. In his eyes she's foreign, with scarily blond hair that reach her waist, with warm golden eyes that smile at every person in the circle she stands in, she lights up whole room like the sun. And he's terrified because he should have be able to recognize her at first sight, yet he doesn't. He tries to see her under all of illusions she had put up on herself, yet he can't. So he does not greet her, he does not smile. He runs, like a coward, as far as he can, stopping only when there's nothing to run on, and then he stretches his wings and flies until he reaches heaven, he sits on some forgotten cliff and weeps. He cries for long time, until he's numb.
-Who have you became, my Love- he whimpers...