When he met her, she was to him as a box of secrets, a different one revealed each time she was opened, each time he loved her deep and quiet until she was pliant enough for a secret to spin free.

Little secrets floated to the top first - the scent of her mother before she got sick, her collection of elephants, the shape of the moon the first time she kissed a girl. Secrets crept out slowly, but he had great respect for the timing of things, the waxing and waning of this girl.

Deeper secrets she told first to the wolf - the sound of her father on the stairs after her mother died, the eyes of the last boy to touch her sly in the shadows, the wings. She'd sing her secrets soft through the bars of his cage, sing them soft in words none but the wolf would understand.

She sang the wings, emptied herself of secrets, and flew, frightened, but free. She spiraled towards the sliver of moon until she heard his voice, low and gentle, singing her secrets back to her.

Alighting beside him in the dark, she kissed him and took back her history transformed.