The handprint etched on the wooden box was his undoing.
He was helpless. Unable to tell her what he knew completely – that her magic was entwined with her being, a vital part of her.
He had failed her. Had not been able to tell her enough, to make her believe in the power that she had and that she could not be without it.
That he needed her, loved her, whole and complete – magic intact and ingrained in all that she did and said and felt.
His despair nearly crushed him.
The phone was his only hope. Time for truth.