“…Azor, you’re a devil!” Pitch cried in between fits of laughter. “Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me it was you from the beginning??”

“Because I knew you would react this way…this is the same thing you did last time…” Azor muttered. He turned abruptly, and walked away.

“Wait, wait; don’t go…!” Pitch called, trotting after him. “I promise, I’ll stop! I just—” A sharp snicker escaped from her throat, and she had to take a moment to compose herself.

Eventually, she managed to stop laughing and catch up to him, just as he entered the castle archways.

“Oh, Azor…I wasn’t really laughing at you,” she said over his shoulder. “It was just…a spontaneous reaction. The emotion of the moment!”

“Yes,” he answered without breaking his stride. “Mirth, apparently…”

“You’re still so sensitive, even as a human…the fact of the matter is that I’m happy. Would you prefer for me to be disappointed??”

“I’d prefer for you to take this seriously.”

“Alright, then…let me take a serious look at you.”

She darted in front of him and stopped him, gazing directly into his face. She ran her hand over his hair, along the side of his jaw, then over his chest and down to his forearm. She held one of his hands.

“…You’re so very thin,” she murmured. “Are you sure you didn’t fall ill along with me…?”

“No, I did not. This is just…” He looked off to the side. “Eating is…difficult, after two hundred years.”

Pitch lowered her gaze, frowning. She held his hand closer. “…If this was going to cause trouble for you, you should have remained a…shadow creature,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“It couldn’t be helped…the terms of the curse were what they were. And as loathe as I was to become human again…in the end, I decided it would be worth it for you.”

He cradled her face in his hands, and she felt her stomach fill with butterflies.

She also felt some of the knots in her memory beginning to re-tie themselves…but she didn’t care.

“Now that you’re here, I don’t need to know anything else,” she thought, leaning in for a kiss. “For all I care, the world starts and ends right here, in this moment…with you…”

The next few weeks were a tranquil blur. Pitch wasn’t even sure if weeks had indeed gone by; she seemed to have lost her sense of time along with her memories.

What’s more, no one cared to bring that fact to her attention. At some point, even Azor stopped asking her to think about things…and she stopped trying. Her life became one big, marvelous, unending present.

“…Whatever happened to your roses?” she asked her husband one day.

“Roses??” Azor asked back.

“Yes…I remember you had some once. You used to love them very much.”

“I couldn’t have loved them more than you.”

Pitch gave him a peck on the cheek. “…I am going to go out and find you some roses,” she said, getting up.

“…Now?”

“Right now~.”

“There’s no need…”

“Oh, but I want to. We have a garden full of flowers; why shouldn’t you have your favorite ones? I’ll bring back some stems, and we can plant them…that’s how you start a rose bush, isn’t it?”

“I really wouldn’t know…but don’t be gone too long.”

“Because you’ll miss me?”

“Always.”

Pitch grinned, and twirled out of the room.

She left the castle grounds and headed uphill, strolling into the mountain forests. At first she saw only shrubs and weeds in her path…until she came upon a valley beneath a cliff. Many different kinds of wildflowers grew there, encouraged by the relative lack of tree cover to reach for the sun. She descended the cliff and wandered among them, unsure of what to pick.

“…This is a rose, I think,” she said, holding a delicate, pale flower between her fingers. “I wonder if this is the kind he would like…”

“No, that’s not it,” said a small voice.

Pitch looked up, searching for the speaker. And before long, a young girl in a green dress stepped out from behind a tree.

“Mr. Azor likes a special kind of rose…I think he called it a hybrid tea,” said the girl. “The ones at his house are mostly dark red, and he has some black ones…none of them are white like that one. They also have to have certain numbers of petals…he’ll notice if you get it wrong. Trust me…”

Pitch stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on the girl. “…Dreadlilocks,” she breathed. “You’re…here??”