When he was full of iced-fire and energy at the head of an army she let him fuck her into the mattress, screaming his name and proclaiming him King. He moved her out of New York before he led his invasion.
When he had been defeated he sent a shade to her. She promised that she would always wait for him before the apparition was ripped away.
When he returned with his lips sewn shut, she gently kissed his ravaged face and held him in her arms as his green eyes became red-rimmed with tears.
When the stitches vanished, she listened to his angry speeches and righted the furniture he knocked over as he would stride through her small apartment.
When she saw the hate threaded throughout the depths of his soul, she wept for him yet loved him still.
