The decree burned.
The gears turned.
And we floated in impossible choice.
Love and die.
Or survive numb.
Then I saw them.
Two wolves.
Floating together.
Nearby.
A man and woman.
Holding hands.
Their fingers intertwined.
Their faces showing love.
Deep love.
Real love.
They were aging.
Visibly.
Rapidly.
Gray appearing in their hair.
Lines forming on their faces.
But they didn't let go.
Didn't separate.
Didn't choose survival over connection.
The woman's hair had been dark brown moments before, rich and full. Now silver threads wove through it like frost spreading across glass. The man's hands, which had been smooth and strong, developed spots, veins rising to the surface like rivers mapping the cost of their choice.
