The moon was trembling.
Seraphine felt it before she saw it a shiver through the silver thread that bound her to the sky, to the world below, to the fragile heartbeat that had once anchored her to something human. The forest around her held its breath. Even the ancient trees, older than empires, seemed to lean inward as if listening for something that had already begun to fade.
She was too late.
She stepped through the veil anyway.
The crossing burned. It always did. The boundary between her realm and his had grown thinner over the years, worn down by longing, by memory, by the stubborn refusal of love to obey the laws that governed everything else. Moonlight tore across her skin like cold fire as she forced herself into the mortal world into a clearing she knew by heart.
Nightfall
