Two months later, fall was well underway, and winter was fast approaching. Icy winds blew over the plains, too fiercely and too sharply for even the bright midday sun to abate.

Azor hated it with a passion. The way the frigid air would suddenly begin to seep through his coat and his shadowy outer form, without warning…it was enough to make him wish he still had skin.

And so, every year, he would have to use his power to generate a little body heat: just enough to keep his few remaining organs from succumbing to frostbite, but not so much that they exceeded room temperature. It was a delicate task, and one that had taken him some time to master…and on that day, he realized he would probably have to learn it all over again.

Nevertheless, he stepped out into his garden, rake in hand. Although he still felt weak, he knew that if he didn’t start preparing his roses for the winter soon, he would surely lose them all by spring. So he began to work, pushing away the dead branches, stray leaves, and fallen petals.

The roses had fared rather poorly in his absence…many of the blooms had withered, and those that remained were not far behind.

And yet, when he looked at the plants, he felt that they were ‘brighter’ somehow: that somewhere deep within their essence, they were now rested and eager for some future event.

“…We will begin again, you and I,” he said. He was unable to smile, yet all the same he felt some expression of contentment somewhere on his false face.

“…I didn’t imagine it,” said a quiet voice.

Azor stopped raking. His senses were now so dulled, he hadn’t realized anyone else was nearby until that very moment. Slowly, he turned around.

Pitch stood on the path in front of the fountain, staring back at him.

She still wore the torn nightgown from her last day at the mountain castle, underneath a set of newly-salvaged armor. Her braids were not as neat as usual— in fact, they were rather frayed and disheveled, as if they too had not been touched since that last day. A pair of them hung down over her temples, framing a very cold and melancholy face.

Azor could not see any of this, however: since he had lost his tail-eye, he had no way of obtaining visual information even subconsciously. But all the same, he knew it was her, from the familiar wavelengths of energy that filled his mind.

“You…called me here,” she said.

“…I did,” he replied.

“And…you’re alive.”

“I never died.”

“…I don’t mean to imply that you were worried for nothing,” he explained. “I did come fairly close to death, and I certainly wouldn’t have survived without your help. But over the years I’ve learned there are many things I can recover from if I am simply allowed time to heal. And by bringing me back here and burying me, you gave me that time…although it was rather difficult to get out of that jar…”

His false eyes shifted slightly. “Anyway…I’m in your debt,” he finished.

Grief and remorse darkened Pitch’s face. “…How can you say something like that??” she cried.

“After everything that happened— and all of it was my fault!” she said. “I convinced you to go with me, I went against your wishes every step of the way, and when I finally decided to listen to your advice, you almost died because of it…!”

“You chose to sacrifice yourself for me, knowing I didn’t deserve it…and not knowing if it would be worth it. And you say you’re in my debt…” She lowered her head. “You must really find me pathetic, to try to be kind to me in a moment like this…”

“…I told you before: you are a great many things, but pathetic is not one of them,” Azor said, stepping forward. “I also told you I did not regret my decision.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m not responsible for putting you in that position in the first place!” Pitch protested. “You may not regret it, but I do! I regret everything; I’d give anything to take it all back…I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry, Azor! Really and truly, desperately sorry…!!”

She began to weep bitterly, covering her face with her hands…until Azor stepped forward and took them in his own.

“…I suppose I should have expected you to react this way,” he said. “You’ve never been able to help making yourself responsible for everyone around you. It’s the reason why you’re always so meddlesome.”

“…That’s right; insult me,” Pitch sniffed. “It’s the least I deserve…after all the trouble I’ve caused you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted nothing to do with me ever again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous…after all, I called you here.”

“I just…wanted to see you again,” he went on. “I wanted to express my thanks, to explain everything, and to ensure that you wouldn’t cry for me anymore…but most of all, I must admit: I simply wanted to have you here with me, once more.”

Azor released her hands suddenly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. He turned and walked back to his rose bushes, picking up the rake again.

“…In all honesty, it’s quite disturbing,” he said. “To want someone around after all this time. I’m not sure whether to believe it.”

Pitch sniffed again, and dried her eyes. “…I hope you will believe it,” she said. “Because it would mean everything in the world to me. You…mean the world to me. And I don’t want to let you go again.”

Azor paused for a moment, then set the rake back down. He took a dying rose from the bush and returned to his love, walking very slowly and deliberately.

“…My dearest,” he said, pressing the rose into her tangled hair, “You will never have to.”