A Heart of Death and Hope

Once upon a time a girl was born to a loving if quiet, mother and a strict, rigid father. When she reached five years of age, the Ceremony of Hearts was held.

Her parents had waited until one of the traveling priests came to their little town to find out just what heart their child had been born with.

Her mother took her to the priest, for it was said that mothers formed a child’s heart, since they carried them beneath their own for so long.

Her mother was nervous, the girl could tell, for if a child was born with a bad heart, the mother always got blamed for it.

The ceremony was held in private and was, all in all, nothing exciting. The priest pricked her fingertip for a drop of blood, the little girl bravely keeping from flinching, and then he held her finger over a slip of paper. He squeezed a bit to make the blood fall onto it before he carefully dropped a spot of ink onto the paper, as well.

The two colors ran together, soaking into the paper, and the priest turned away before he could see the end result.

Another superstition was that if anyone but the mother and child saw the outcome of the ceremony, they were going to change it, that a stranger’s eyes could influence or perhaps warp the truth.

The little girl knew what her parents' paper strips looked like, her father’s narrow and red and edged in only a little black, her mother’s all blood. The more the red prevailed, the purer the heart. The more the black prevailed, the more a heart was tainted.

Her mother stared at the strip of paper as black spread and only a faint outline of red remained, her face suddenly drawn tight and full of silent fear. The priest turned around and stared at the slip, going silent and still, as well.

"A heart of death," he murmured quietly as he studied the way the liquid had soaked into the paper, the forms and lines and shapes it had created. "I have only ever seen such a thing once before."

"Please don’t tell anyone," her mother whispered, grabbing the paper slip and closing her fist tightly around it, as though to hide it away. "She’s only so little."

The priest glanced between them, clearly torn, before he pulled out another slip, dropping only a tiny bit of ink onto it before he reached for the girl’s bleeding finger once more and pressed more drops onto it, making sure the red prevailed even as black tried to eat into it again.

"That is all I can do," he said, and her mother traded the slip she held for the new one with a big, shivering exhale of relief. The priest threw the original piece of paper into the small fireplace off to the side. "Now go, and speak of this no more. But woman, remember, you may lie, but the child’s heart will not change because of it."

The girl felt her mother’s hand tighten around hers before she was gently but insistently pulled out of the room the priest had been given by the mayor. Outside, other parents waited with their children and they perked up with eager curiosity.

"What did she get, Madleine?" one of the women asked. The girl remembered her; she always came around to pick her mother up on washing day so they could do chores together.

Her son was a freckled, quiet boy who liked to help bugs out of the washing basins, and who protected spiders from other, rougher children.

"A heart of hope," her mother answered, a smile on her face as she held out the strip. "Look at all that red fighting back the black!"

The other women in line made appreciative noises, though some glanced at the girl with slightly wrinkled noses, tugging their children closer, a shine of jealousy in their eyes.

"Next," the priest called out, and the girl’s mother took that chance to usher her away as another mother eagerly stepped forward.

"Don’t tell your father," the girl’s mother whispered, quiet but with a fierceness the girl hadn’t heard from her before. "Your heart is one of hope, understand?"

"I don’t want to kill anyone," the girl whispered back, worried and unsure. "I don’t want to hurt anyone either. Maybe the priest was wrong?"

Her mother tugged her into an alley before she dropped down to one knee, grasping her shoulders and looking at her with quiet intensity.

"Death is not a terrible, awful thing, and many things can die, even things not made of flesh and blood. If you do have a heart of death, then choose what you end." She pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead and whispered, "Never fear yourself, my dear girl; even the darkest heart can bring good into this world if they know where to direct their darkness."

The little girl fell quiet, thoughtful, and her mother smiled at her, pressing another kiss to her forehead before she rose to her feet and offered her hand. The girl took it, and they headed back home where her father was already waiting impatiently.

He seemed satisfied enough with the results of the ceremony, nodding once before he handed the slip back to her mother to be framed and put above the mantle, between the slips of her parents.

The girl’s mother cast her a look when his back turned, and the girl nodded. She knew when to keep a secret.

They went about the rest of the day as usual, and by the time the little girl laid down in her bed, she had thought about her heart a lot.

A heart of death. Her mother had said that it wasn’t a bad thing, and she decided that it wouldn’t be.

If she couldn’t have a good heart, the least she could do was bring death to bad things.

The girl never mentioned the true nature of her heart to anyone, and instead let everyone believe she had a heart of hope. In return, she found herself paying attention to where the light fell short.

She befriended the boy no one wanted to talk to and secretly dropped off potatoes and a little basket of picked berries at the grim neighbor’s house once a week after discovering that no one spoke to the woman who lived there who had faced terrible hardship in her time.

And bit by bit, the girl noticed other things as she grew older. How some people seemed to have darkness clinging to them like an oil film, flickering between the folds of their clothing like tiny, licking flames.

Her father was among them, though his darkness was subtle enough that she had almost overlooked it.

The girl had always kept a bit of a distance from her father and he from her. So long as she obeyed him, he was only strict, not cruel.

When he died a year later, taken by a sickness, she grieved, and yet, a small part of her was relieved as well.

Her mother seemed to come alive in the wake of his passing. Singing and dancing suddenly filled the house, his blood-slip vanishing from its spot on the wall, and it was as though there was more light in their home now.

The girl stayed away from the people who carried more of that darkness, an instinctive feeling in her gut warning her that nothing good was to be found near them.

Right up until, when she was fourteen years old, there was a person with the darkest shadows she had seen yet who went from house to house, selling miracle tonics.

It had been a bad year for the entire region due to a far-too-wet spring and summer, the rivers swelling large, and there had been a couple of houses built near the water that had gotten swept away.

The girl hoped the stranger wouldn’t come to their house, as well, but one evening, while her mother sat by the table, repairing and mending various things, someone knocked on the door.

The girl could guess who it was, and she had seen everyone fall to the stranger’s charms, even the grim old woman and the cautious, nervous young candle maker who had moved into town after marrying the miller’s son.

"I got it," the girl called out, her mother settling back down with a nod, returning her attention to her work.

Swallowing nervously, the girl headed for the door and pulled it open. It was indeed the peddling stranger, his smile friendly and disarming, but no matter how nice he looked, it couldn’t hide the oil-slick darkness that seemed to coalesce along the edges of his clothes and the tips of his hair, almost looking like it was dripping down.

The stranger introduced himself as a wandering alchemist and doctor’s apprentice. He said that he was selling cures and remedies for all kinds of ailments, from an unwanted wart and persistent cough to terrible fevers.

"Why don’t you take this little sample?" he said when he realized that the girl had no intentions of buying anything from him. "Give it to your parents so they’ll keep staying healthy. They ought to take it right away, even! Let them know that I’ll only stay in town another day before I move on in case they do desire to buy my tonics."

He held out a corked little vial, and while the liquid inside looked downright honey-gold, the girl saw the same oil-slick darkness on the outside of the vial, as though it was oozing from the man’s sleeve and down his wrist and fingers to coat the glass.

"It’s alright, take it," he said, insistently holding the vial out further, and the girl hesitantly reached out, silently resolving to throw the vial out where her mother couldn’t see.

The moment her hand brushed the stranger’s, it was as though the darkness dripped off of him, sliding away to leave regular shadows and color behind, and he jerked back with a sharp gasp, dropping the vial to let it shatter on the doorstep.

"Are you alright?" the girl asked, startled, but he didn’t seem to hear her. If anything, he stared off into the distance, a horrified expression overtaking his face.

"What am I doing?" he whispered and took a downright stumbling step back, pressing his hand to his mouth, his gaze darting about. He almost dropped the doctor’s bag that held the tonics he was selling. "What just happened...?"

He breathed out the last few words in a barely audible manner as he turned around and left as though in a daze. His free hand rose to his temples as if he was suffering a sudden headache.

The girl stared after him, startled and confused, until she heard her mother call out to close the door since it was getting drafty.

"Who was it?" the girl’s mother asked when she returned, and the girl shook her head.

"No one, just a prank," she answered. "Probably the butcher’s son; he’s of that age now." The boy had been pranking a number of people recently, so it was a safe lie.

"I’ll speak with Richard when I visit his shop the next time," her mother said. "I’ll ask him to teach his son better ways to express his mischief."

The girl nodded and sat down to help her mother, though her mind kept wandering, and she stared down at her hands. Had... she done that?

She quietly resolved to test that theory. The next time she saw a person with dark shadows clinging to them, she approached them. Propriety was strongly instilled in most, so when she offered her hand and introduced herself, people reached back out to her.

Her touch, indeed, made darkness vanish, and everyone jolted away from her, their expressions going through a myriad of feelings. Confusion, grief, pain, worry, and guilt. The stronger the darkness, the stronger the emotion that followed when it vanished.

It worked. Her touch seemed to be able to do something against that oil-slick darkness.

A feeling of breathless, almost disbelieving hope filled her as she stared down at her hands. Maybe this was the good she could do. Maybe this was the death her heart could bring. The death of everything that was vile and dark and bad.

Her heart, the very thing that had always quietly worried her despite her determination to do good, was truly nothing she had to fear.

She walked through town with hope beating bright like light wings flapping in her chest, and she offered a greeting and her hand to as many people as she could. She never insisted if they refused, and by the time she returned home, she was downright skipping down the street.

It didn’t take long, however, for her to notice that the darkness crept back in. Just because it died at her touch didn’t mean people remained free of it.

After a first, horrible stab of disappointment and glumness, she took a deep breath and observed, instead. Bit by bit, she started to understand where the darkness came from. Loneliness, abandonment, pain and hurt and resentment.

It grew from the cracks across people’s hearts, from wounds left by others or even by the hands of fate and it flourished in the absence of care and love and comfort.

The girl was only one person, and she and her mother didn’t have much even if what they had was enough for them, but still she found herself reaching out.

"How are you doing?" she asked the neighbor across the street who dripped with darkness again and again, grim and angry and callous.

"Allow me to help," she offered to the stressed out, exhausted young father, bitter with loneliness and full of scared helplessness, his baby worrying him endlessly.

It didn’t remove the darkness, but between shaking hands when she greeted people and carefully figuring out what she could do to help, it got better. Little by little, the darkness was no longer as cloying and clinging, and it faded a tiny bit at a time.

Before she knew it, she watched others do as she did. The friends she had made were first to join her and while they were a bit confused and befuddled at first, there was a warmth growing whenever they helped that made them return to the task again and again, even without her present.

To her quiet surprise, the people she had helped started reaching out to others, as well, until, like the ripples in a pond where a stone had gotten dropped, things changed. Just a little. Just one tiny step at a time, but there was change nonetheless.

Like nearly-wilted flowers, people started to straighten and brighten and downright bloom in the care they received and the care they then bestowed upon others.

Not everyone joined in, however. There were some wounds too deep to heal anytime soon, and some people were covered in so much darkness it puddled under their feet as they walked, fading only slowly in their wake. They had no desire to change, not at all, for they were too comfortable with their hatred and greed and anger.

And yet, despite those refusing to change, the girl watched the world around her brighten as the months tumbled into each other.

Years passed, and cautiously at first, and then with growing eagerness, people came together. Like a starved horse that started to trust that food would no longer be scarce.

The people who carried a deep darkness and carried it gladly began to leave, driven away by people who didn’t fall for their lies and angry ranting anymore. They also left because of girl now grown into a young woman who could make them question their every action, past and present.

It was then that the young woman noticed the beings that started to walk among the crowd, unseen by most and hastily ignored by the rest.

If people had been covered in oil-slick darkness before, these beings consisted entirely of it, their dark robes flowing down their bodies like contained liquid.

The people who brushed past them came away with darkness clinging to them like a film, but the carefully-then-enthusiastically-grown community of their town held strong. The darkness barely found any cracks to slide through, and even then, it didn’t stay overly long.

It took the young woman too long to realize that the dark specters were searching for something, for the cause of this resilience, until she met the eyes of one.

Those eyes were of a lightless black, and the being’s gaze made the hounds of helplessness and despair lick at her heels, eager to chase her down and devour her whole.

"You," the being whispered, and the next moment, it stood in front of her. "You started all of this. You are starving us."

It reached for her, full of hot and cold rage, and she flinched back, but the moment its pale hands touched her, it ripped its hands away, howling and moaning in agony.

The young woman’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the being’s robes change, a glow of light appearing in the middle of its chest before it faded again, getting swallowed by the black.

"Oh, you," the being hissed, staring at her with fearful anger. "You humans and your wretched hearts!"

It vanished, leaving only black smoke behind that dispersed like mist in the air. The young woman stood still, her heart racing in her chest like a spooked horse, and a shaky exhale escaped her.

Never before in her life had she seen or experienced something like this. She hurriedly rushed down the street, heading towards the library to try to find answers. A priestess had recently moved into town, and the older woman was quite knowledgeable about all kinds of things.

The young woman tried to look for answers herself, first, a lifetime of keeping her heart’s truth a secret making her reluctant to speak about what she had seen. However, despite the books on magical creatures and folklore and all kinds of beings, big and small, she failed to find what she was looking for.

"How may I help you?" the priestess asked when the young woman approached her, at last.

The priestess listened quietly and without judgement as the young woman told her haltingly, hesitantly, about what she had witnessed. What she had been seeing for years now and the being she had met mere hours earlier.

"There is a story," the priestess said after a long moment of thoughtful silence. "About how, when the world was born, so, too, did the fate of the world take shape. That, as surely as we walk this earth, so, too, do beings as old as time." She tapped her chin, pondering. "I believe what you may have seen was a corrupted fate lord."

That sounded quite ominous. "How come I’ve never heard of them?" the young woman asked, and the priestess smiled wryly.

"They only reveal themselves where fate gets touched. There are stories of them being wraiths on battlefields, of them being protectors during great tragedies, and of them being quiet supporters during times of change."

The priestess glanced at the young woman and added, "It is said that terrible people are capable of influencing and, ultimately, corrupting fate lords for the worse. Once a fate lord takes interest in you, they tend to linger for a very long time. Some, even, until that person dies." She grew more serious. "Be very cautious; an angry fate lord is a rare but terrible thing."

"I will," the young woman promised, though she genuinely had no idea what to do if the fate lord crossed her path once more. For now, it seemed as though he was unable to harm her.

When the young woman returned home, she saw the fate lord once more, perched atop a roof like a giant raven, his expression full of cold hatred.

It made a shiver crawl down her spine, and she quickened her step, hurrying towards the warm home she shared with her mother and the simple but hearty food that awaited her for dinner.

The fate lord became a staple in her life, albeit a distant, cold one. He glared at her but never approached her again. Instead, she caught glimpses of him in town as he did whatever fate lords did.

Sometimes, he trailed after people, sometimes, he perched on roofs, and other times, he sat somewhere in the market square, watching the people as they bartered and traded.

The other fate lords that had been around at first had vanished; only he remained, an expression of grim frustration on his pale, slim face more often than not. Whenever he spotted her, his glare intensified, and he got up to keep his distance from her.

Slowly, the young woman’s life settled into a new normal. She kept an eye on the fate lord from a distance, but aside from that, she returned to dedicating herself to erasing the darkness in the people around her.

She rarely offered her hand anymore unless someone did so first. It had become far more effective to help in other ways, to listen when people were sad, to carry the purchases of a young parent or hunched elder or someone hurt.

It was far more rewarding, as well. To see faces light up with surprised gladness, to watch genuine smiles bloom, to see the easing of shoulders and to be there when people opened up. To see them happy with others.

The harvest festival a month later was the brightest one yet. Joy was shared freely, people who used to keep themselves separated were invited to sit at crowded tables, and there was more care and trust to go around than previously.

The young woman danced until she was breathless, laughed and joked and drank with a group of foresters who cheered when she finished her jug in a handful of seconds. She played the various games set up around the market square and watched her mother flirt with the tavern owner, a rare expression of adoring sweetness on her face.

The young woman almost overlooked the fate lord that lingered at the fringes of the festival, staying where it was dark and cold, away from the warm fires and warm bodies, the hugs freely offered and the various townsfolk who told stories across the market square, adults and children alike hanging onto their every word.

There was music, beautiful and bright, from a group of traveling bards staying for the festival, something they hadn’t done before, for the town had been stingy with and suspicious of strangers.

The fate lord watched her warily as she approached, and she had no idea what fate lords ate, but he looked thinner than usual, so she set a plate of assorted foods and a jug of mead down on a crate near him.

"You would only waste this on me," he said, staring at the plate and jug like it might leap up and bite him if he dared to move. "I lost the ability to partake in human joys a long time ago."

The young woman wondered if he stopped eating the day he got corrupted, or if it had been a slow and gradual process.

"You are starving me," he said suddenly as she turned to leave, and she paused, surprised that he kept speaking to her. His expression was tired when she looked at him. "Fate pulled me here, but there is nothing waiting for me. No home to welcome me, no people to walk beside. You have starved the darkness so much there is no place for me."

He looked away from her and ahead as people started clapping rhythmically, a large crowd gathering to dance around a big fire together, their voices joining as one as they sang, the bards gleefully jumping in.

"Maybe it is for the best," he said, and the young woman watched as more oil-slick darkness crept up his neck, as though to claim more of him. "Everyone and everything dies one day. This way, at least, my miserable existence ends."

"That’s sad," the young woman found herself whispering, and he blinked, as though surprised to hear her say so. "Isn’t there something that can give you hope?"

"What could possible make this better?" he asked, full of old and new bitterness, of an ache that he had carried for so long it became normal. "There is no true salvation, no lasting peace."

The young woman thought of how quiet and meek she and her mother had been years ago, of how the town had been darker and drearier once. How people had been tired and worn and alone.

"Then make it," she said, and the fate lord looked at her, a small frown pulling at his brows. "If it doesn’t exist now, then make it. Aren’t you a fate lord? Isn’t fate something you are part of? Why not choose a kinder, better fate for yourself?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his frown deepening. "What do you know," he said at last, and the young woman tapped the crate.

"More than you think," she answered. "I was born with a heart of death, and I’ve chosen to make it one of hope." She met his gaze, calm and unafraid. "It can be frightening to walk a path you don’t know, but tell me, is the one you currently walk any better than the unknown?"

His lips thinned as he pressed them together, and he looked away, but the darkness that had crept up his neck had stopped. If anything, it seemed to fade again.

The young woman gave the crate a last tap. "Eat," she told him gently. "Even if it won’t feed you, it might make you feel better."

She left, his silence a heavy thing that dogged her steps until she rejoined the festivities. Soon, she was laughing again, dancing and clapping and singing, and when she found herself glancing back at the alley, the fate lord was gone, but the plate was empty, and she found herself smiling a little wider.

After the festival, the young woman saw the fate lord around town more and more often. He no longer sat around in grim silence but instead had started to wander. She even caught him as he rescued the last bumblebee of the year, scooping it out of the bucket it had fallen into and letting it rest in his palm until it was dry again and flew off.

They ended up talking as their paths crossed more often, and before the young woman knew it, he began appearing at her side the moment she left the house. He accompanied her to her work, and to her surprise, so long as he was with her, others seemed to become aware of him.

"They don’t know what I am," he said when another neighbor called out a greeting to them. "Only those who tangle with fate’s strands do. But... I can’t deny it is nice to be seen again." He was quiet for a long moment. "People don’t want to see darkness, so they didn’t want to see me, either, even when I wanted to reveal myself to them."

"I see," the young woman said quietly before she smiled at him. "Then why don’t you accompany me? I’m going to meet my friends after work."

He didn’t answer, but after she left the library, her work as a scribe done for the day, he was there. Her friends were surprised to see her with company, but they welcomed him all the same, accepting his silence, and when he did speak, they didn’t hesitate to include him.

By the end of the night, he was even smiling a little; it was faint and worn, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Come by again tomorrow," the young woman said as he walked her home. "I’m going to visit the theater."

He was there the next day, and as they sat in the theater together in the evening, there was a shine in his eyes that hadn’t been there before as he watched the play.

The young woman kept inviting him along, and she watched as he grew lighter, the darkness of him changing faintly, though it still remained like a heavy cloak all around him.

She brought him food even if he kept telling her that it wouldn’t feed him, but the first time he bit into a lemon cake, a quiet expression of innocent joy briefly brightened his face.

Slowly, bit by bit, she learned more about the fate lord aside from his glaring sullenness. He started to speak of his life, of the sights he had seen, the people he had once stood side-by-side with.

There was pain in him, his voice faint and cracking around the edges as he mentioned how proud he had once been of the people fate led him to. Of himself.

He never spoke of the last person he had been drawn to. Of the day darkness found him and kept finding him as he was unable to disentangle himself from the person who had taken hold of many of fate’s strands, tainting them all.

The day the fate lord made her laugh, dry humor and cunning wit starting to shine through the bitterness, he smiled properly for the first time. It made him look softer and allowed her a glimpse at who he might have been once, how kind and hopeful he had been.

However, despite the darkness growing lighter, it was doing so too slowly, and he grew ever more thin.

One morning, after the first snowfall of the year had covered the world in white overnight, the young woman left the house to see him lying on the ground outside. He looked snow-pale and for a moment she thought that he had died.

"Your heart," he whispered as she worriedly approached him. He was lying in the snow like a big spill of darkness. "You said it is one of death. Won’t you grant me a quiet, quick exit?"

He opened his eyes to look at her. He looked very worn and done with everything. "Please," he said softly. "I am tired."

The young woman was silent for a startled moment before she stepped forward. "You won’t die," she said softly, and he just watched her, waiting. "Will you give me your hand?"

"If that is what you wish," he answered and lifted his hand from the snow, the movements slow and sluggish. "I won’t refuse if that is the price for peace."

The young woman reached out to take his hand, worrying briefly that her touch would hurt him again, before she took a deep breath.

The moment she closed her fingers around his, she watched the darkness leech away, leaving behind bright, brilliant robes of sprawling gold and that beautiful shade of blue-green that their rivers and lakes shared.

He inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open as he stared at her, his breath starting to fog in front of his face where it hadn’t been visible before.

"I told you," she said quietly. "I’ve made my heart into one of hope."

"Oh," he whispered and then he was laughing, and he pressed his free hand over his face, though even that couldn’t hide the tears that were spilling forth while he kept clinging to her hand.

The young woman sat down beside him in the snow and kept holding onto him as he laughed and cried until he let his free hand fall back from his face. A smile full of relief and released pain was on his face, his expression full of aching hope.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For... for everything. For finding me at my darkest hour and bringing back the light. For wanting me around when no one else would even look at me."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "We’re all part of this world," she said quietly. "Why should I leave you behind?"

He sat up, clumps of snow falling off his back, his smile wobbling and small but earnest. The scars of the past weren’t gone, she could see it in the way he still clung to her, the way his hope was an aching, wounded thing. He still had to heal, even if he was no longer dying.

"Can I accompany you?" he asked, a hesitancy to him that hadn’t been there before like he was unsure of his welcome now. "Like I always do?"

"Of course," she said and got up, giving his hand a tug. "I would hate to lose my friend."

The fate lord brightened at her words and got to his feet. He didn’t move swiftly, a remaining heaviness clinging to him, his entire being worn and exhausted still.

He accompanied her to work, and it was with great reluctance and no small amount of fear that he slowly let go of her. He exhaled with relief when the darkness didn’t come rushing back, his shoulders relaxing minutely.

"I’m not a cure," the young woman found herself saying. "I can help, and I can make things better, but you’re the one who has to figure out what you need. How to heal." She offered a soft smile. "But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to do this alone, either. You have me to lean on, and I’m sure my friends will be happy to have you around, as well."

"Thank you," he said and then swept into a grand bow, the sort of bows that noble knights and adoring lords offered their ladies. "I will not waste this chance you gave me."

He left with a spring in his step, and for the first time, people noticed him even as he left her side. They were surprised to see him, many pausing to look after him, and when he called out a greeting to them, full of hesitation and bravado at the same time, people answered.

The young woman watched him grow more and more confident as he greeted more people, and she smiled to herself as she went to work.

The fate lord waited for her when she was done and swept her away to the tavern to meet up with her friends. Little traces of darkness had started to appear on him again, his wounds and exhaustion from before lingering.

When she offered her hand, he took it gladly.

Her friends were happy to welcome another person at their table, though they threw the young woman significant glances that told her she’d have to explain things to them later.

It was a good evening, a great one, even, and by the end of it, the young woman felt pleasantly warm and nicely tired. The fate lord accompanied her home, and the young woman invited him in, since her mother was out on a late night walk with the tavern owner.

They chatted in front of the fire until the young woman fell asleep. When she woke, she found herself tucked into bed, her shoes neatly lined up by the door, and she found herself smiling, a warm, light, and lovely feeling spreading through her.

A feeling that grew when she saw the fate lord waiting for her by the gate, and he offered his hand to her, hopeful and with a sweet smile on his face.

It wasn’t as though the fate lord was a completely different person as he healed. The darkness found him less and less and as the heaviness and grimness, the bitterness and hopelessness faded from him as the weeks passed, his true self began to emerge.

He was a fun person, his sense of humor even better than before, and he was eager for adventures, for more experiences, for all that the world had to offer. His thinness faded, and he regained a very enthusiastic appetite for human food.

The young woman found herself swept off her feet before she knew it, the fate lord taking her to the nearest city during her time off.

There he took her to the theater first and dancing afterwards. When she found herself reluctant to leave, he promised to take her back to the city as many times as she wanted.

In the meantime, he was eager to accompany her through her days, to dance with her in the tavern, to drink with her and her friends, and it seemed as though he had made it his goal to make her laugh as often as possible.

As the seasons passed, they found themselves lying in the grass during warm nights, speaking softly with each other, their hands clasped.

His touch was warm and his gaze adoring, and when he reached out to her with his free hand, she met him halfway, letting him guide her into a kiss that caused both of them to grin so wide they had to break apart again.

The next day, he took her out on their first date and then another and another.

"I’ve been thinking," he murmured one evening as they listened to nightingales sing. "What you did for me, could you do the same for other fate lords? Save them from fading away to nothing, hopeless and forlorn and forgotten?"

"I can try," she whispered back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "But I can’t do it alone."

"I would never abandon you or leave you without aid," he answered immediately, growing serious and solemn. "If we do this, we do it together."

"Alright," the young woman whispered and then grinned at him. "Let’s bring hope back to fate."

He smiled at her, his free hand rising to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing beneath her eye with great gentleness.

"And death to despair," he answered, his hand sliding from her cheek to press against her chest. "With your wonderful human heart."

She covered his hand with her own. "And with your glowing hope."

He kissed her for that and then once more and a third time for good measure, pouring love and care and kindness and adoration into her, and the young woman matched him stride for stride, her heart so bright and happy no darkness could hope to touch it.

Life wasn’t easy, it would never be, but they had found and would keep finding ways to be happy and to share that happiness with others.

They lived their life, and day by day, they found ways to keep pushing back the darkness.

And as they found other fate lords, one at a time, despair died, and hope grew instead.