He stepped into the golden glow of the lamppost, the only light illuminating the frosty night of winter. The cold bit into his bare arms, but he didn’t mind when his thoughts were only focused on the girl standing in front of him.

Her golden hair fell to her elbows, intricately woven braids cascading down her shoulders like water flowing downstream. Her eyes were soft and green as rolling hills in spring, and she was curious of everything, soaking in the world like it was the last time she’d ever see it. But where a bright smile would normally rest on her countenance, her brows were furrowed, her bottom lip torn from biting it.

The young man whisked her away under the protection of their lamppost, the black abyss forever expanding above them. She squeaked, startled by the sudden movement, and placed her hands upon his chest to brace herself. Puffs of breath rose into the air in white coils and disappeared just the same, but neither the woman, nor the man, were paying attention to the stars in the sky or their breaths in the still air.

No. Their only focus was on each other’s eyes: one’s soft green and the other’s piercing gold, like a black cat in an oil painting.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she said, her angelic voice stern yet entrancing. “You know that.”

Their voices were hushed when they spoke, as if they might’ve been afraid that someone would overhear. “I know,” he replied, and whereas her tone was so assertive, his remained irritatingly whiny. In the back of his mind, he considered that his father would kill him if he heard him speak in such a childish manner.

“I know,” the young man attempted again, pleased by the coolness that replaced the inner child. “Believe me, I know. It’s all I’ve been thinking about these days. Which is why I brought you here.”

She shook her head fiercely, her blonde braids swaying with each little movement, and yet they never seemed to fall out of place. The face of perfection. The face of pure beauty.

“No,” she responded, bringing him back to the present, and in the time that his mind had wandered, the young woman’s eyes had seemed to darken, a thunderstorm rolling in on the brightest of days. She warned, “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to keep me here.”

A faint laugh escaped his lips, loose and easily mistaken as lighthearted if someone had heard it from afar. “Of course I want you here. I love you-”

“Visha-”

“I’m in love with you, Catherine. And I will never stop loving you.” He paused, his throat closing in on him like sand dripping into the bottom of an hourglass, getting fuller and fuller until there was no space left.

Visha looked up at her and sucked in a shaky breath, the golden glow from their lamppost cast across her face. Her expression twisted into a look of pure confusion, and she bit the inside of her pale cheek.

And when he finally found his voice, he said, “I met you at this lamppost years ago. There were crowds of people as far as the eye could see, and yet you were the one who stood out to me.”

Catherine was standing so close to him that if she stood on her tiptoes, she could kiss him… but their lips remained parted and her dark green eyes stayed trained on his own. “Visha, I know this story already. I was there.”

“I know,” he rushed, and immediately flinched at the incline of his volume. “But I thought I’d tell it one more time before you went- just to remind you of how this all began.”

The young woman seemed hesitant of this, but she finally nodded. “Alright.”

And Visha smiled softly. “That’s my beauty.”

She rolled her eyes, a grin curling upwards, and his heart sank into his stomach. “Just continue before I change my mind.”

He nodded firmly and did as told. “You had a smile that seemed to shine brighter than the sun, and this long blonde hair that was nearly silver in the afternoon light. And I thought that I’d never reach you in time, that surely you’d be gone before I made my way through the sea of people.”

Visha paused, remembering a time so long ago when her flowing white dress had fallen modestly to her ankles, and his golden eyes had been soft with innocence. “But then you looked up at me and I felt as if the whole world had stopped revolving. My feet moved without knowing where they were taking me, and the next thing I knew I was standing in front of you under this same lamppost, and I still feel the same way about you that I did then.”

He watched as the nostalgic smile fell from her face and she finally tore her gaze away, unable to meet his eyes. She cleared her throat, her teeth sinking into the corner of her tender lips. “Visha, that was centuries ago, not years.”

Of course Visha was aware of that. Every day it was a constant reminder. When she’d have to go, when the day would come, when he ran out of time…

The young man glanced at the golden watch on his wrist, and suddenly, he’d never felt so old.

“It’s all been so fun,” he said smoothly, but his stomach churned awfully, and his heart ached as the words slipped coldly off his tongue and into the biting breeze. “I guess I can’t keep up.”

Catherine’s eyes found his once again. She smiled softly. If he could’ve stopped time and just reveled in that moment, basked in her beauty for the rest of eternity, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat.

Suddenly, her warm hands rested gently against his face, and she pressed her lips to his. In that instant, Visha was transported to the past, back to another time under their lamppost, when she’d been the one to kiss him first and he’d stood there like a fool, love stricken and too blinded by her glowing aura to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

But even as he thought back to when a naïve version of himself had stood in the same position he was now, Visha knew that he was stronger than his past self. He’d wasted enough time. His centuries were up. Now, he had to listen.

When she pulled away, it was as if she had stolen all of the warmth from his body. Catherine had to look up at him to see his face properly, and he hated that the first thing he noticed was not the frown displayed on her face, but that the green of her eyes had shifted back to that luscious shade of spring. His chest constricted and his throat continued to fill with sand.

It would’ve been a lot easier to let her go if he wasn’t still madly in love with her.

“I have to go,” she whispered sadly, “My father is waiting. I need to be back home with him. I’ve been gone too long, and now with this war brewing, he needs my help.”

There was a slight edge to her tone at the mention of war, like she knew it was a sensitive subject, and at the drop of a hat something shifted in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Visha huffed a laugh, emotionless and tight. “Right. I suppose your father doesn’t want his daughter to be seen with my kind, does he?”

Catherine’s innocent eyes widened, shocked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, Catherine,” he snapped, his tone as sharp and cutting as a knife, “You’re not supposed to be seen with the enemy. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

The young woman’s features softened immediately as his words sank in. She reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. Warm, was all he could think. Oh, how he’d miss her touch.

“I love you, Visha. And I do not think that you are a monster,” she guaranteed in that same, sharp tone of hers as before, assertive and genuine and caring. “And no matter what happens and who wins, I will always come back to you. But right now, I need to be with my people, and you need to be with yours.”

His eyes did not stray from hers for a long moment. The two just stared in silence at each other, her hand still resting on his cheek, nothing but the breeze to fill the deafening quiet. “Okay,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I understand.”

Catherine sighed, a look of relief crossing her features. She kissed his nose and backed away, that bright smile from years ago spread across her face. She’d never looked so young. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, satisfied when all she found was a fat, black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Then two large, white wings sprouted from her back and fluttered delicately behind her, the golden glow of the lamppost reflecting off of her heavenly feathers.

She glanced back at him, and the clocktower in the distance began to chime, declaring midnight at last. It was time.

“Well,” she said, “Farewell, Visha.”

And all the angel did was smile.

“Catherine, wait,” he called. And his voice raw, he said, “I’m sorry.”

In a gust of golden smoke, two bulky men with twisted red wings appeared and grabbed her arms, forcing her to her knees. Catherine, taken aback, shrieked and flapped her wings, but she never left the ground.

“Visha,” she cried, and his heart ached. “Visha, what are you doing? Visha!”

“What has to be done,” a cold, deep voice said from behind him, and a shiver ran up his spine. A man twice his size joined him by his side and patted his shoulder, his smile twisted, golden eyes shimmering dangerously with desire. “Well done, son.”

“Thank you, father,” he said, but his voice came out all wrong, strong and sharp, like the man’s that stood beside him. He thought that he might be sick.

“Visha, please,” Catherine begged, tears glistening in her darkened green eyes. Her blonde hair had fallen out of their coils and hung messily in front of her face. An imperfection at last. As reality sunk in, she pursed her lips and in a strained tone, she cried, “You are poison, Visha. Poison!”

“Farewell, Catherine.”

His father crossed over to the young woman as she continued to scream his name, but Visha turned on his heel and walked away, unable to face her as the demon summoned his gnarled pitchfork and raised it high into the night, glistening in the light of their lamppost.

As the devil laughed maniacally and the innocent angel screamed, the last breath that would ever leave her lips, their first kiss once again crossed Visha’s mind, only this time the image of his father sitting on his throne replaced it, his words the only thought he’d had on his mind as she’d pressed her lips to his. The devil had said, “Live up to the meaning of your name, Visha. I’m counting on you, son.”

You are poison, Visha, Catherine had said only moments prior. Poison!

Finally, after all those centuries, he had lived up to his father’s wishes, and the enemy had declared it herself.

As Visha left the place that he had once found comforting, he could only think of how sweet Catherine had died with innocence in her heart, and yet he lived on with poison in his.