Legend claimed that Imera had loved the moon so much she'd severed two of her own fingers to prove it, a gift of bone and devotion.
Even ancient beings weren't above the madness of love. Or the depths of hate.
Other older wiser beings countered such legends, how did someone love the moon? It wasn't a living creature you could hold or speak to. It just hung there in the endless dark, silent and untouchable.
It was either Imera saw something in that pale light that others couldn't, or her endless knowledge of the universe had driven her completely insane.
Yuta looked up at the empty sky where the moon had disappeared after Lyria's spell. His wrist still throbbed where he'd cut himself, blood sticky on his skin.
When he finally dragged his gaze back down, it landed on Lilith.
She was beautiful.
Even as just an orange-haired spirit without flesh, she looked like something from a dream—ethereal and glowing.
