The figure stepped forward, each movement bending the air as if reality strained to hold his shape. Shadows clung to him like a cloak, but his face—oh, his face—was the same one she had kissed a thousand times in memory.
"Nunna," he breathed, voice quivering with yearning, "do you still remember me?"
Her throat tightened. "How could I forget? You were… everything. But you're gone. You should not be here."
"I shouldn't," he admitted, his eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight, half sorrow, half devotion. "And yet, love does not fade. My soul defied the grave. I clawed my way through darkness—just to see you again."
Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to collapse into his arms, to believe this miracle. But the longer she gazed, the more she saw the wrongness. His shadow stretched unnaturally, moving even when he stood still. The scent of roses she once loved lingered in the air, but beneath it crept the stench of earth freshly disturbed.
Her voice broke. "…If it is truly you, then tell me—why do you feel so cold? Why do I see hunger in your eyes?"
He flinched, as though pierced. For a heartbeat, his sorrow looked real, raw.
"Because love alone was not enough to bring me back. I… paid a price. One I cannot speak of."
The temple shuddered. The torches flickered violently, and whispers filled the air—dozens of voices, wailing, pleading. The shadows around him twisted, stretching toward her like skeletal hands.
Still, he held out his own hand, palm trembling.
"I am no illusion, Nunna. I am yours. Even if I'm bound by darkness, even if I'm cursed—I came back only for you. Will you take my hand, or will you abandon me again to the void?"
Her chest ached, torn between love and terror. His gaze was the same, the words were the same—but what if the being before her was no longer the man she once knew?
And yet… her fingers trembled as they lifted, drawn toward him as if fate itself commanded.