Apollo
I was losing it.
No, really—losing it like a knight charging a windmill. Spiraling. Unraveling. Absolutely done for.
Charlie, with her blushes and her bead gifts and her blurted "Friends! Very good friends!", had effectively shattered what was left of my self-control. There was no recovering. Not from her.
Not from the way she looked at me like I was something good in this world. Like I wasn’t just forged in fire and burdened with legacy.
She had no idea what she was doing to me. No idea how close she lived to the line I kept drawn between protectiveness and desire, between awe and obsession.
Gods help me—I was in love with her. Utterly. Consumed by it.
So when she asked me to shift—to see my true form—I didn’t hesitate. How could I?
She wanted all of me. And I wanted her
