We move together in the quiet dark, a slow, deliberate dance of adaptation and intimacy. It’s awkward. We step on each other’s toes. My shoulder aches. His balance is off. But it is deeper. It is richer. It is entirely, beautifully real.
Through the mate bond, I feel his pleasure, his love, his absolute, unyielding devotion. It washes over me, a warm, soothing balm that heals the lingering, quiet terror of the cosmic war.
When the song ends, we stand tangled in each other’s arms, our breathing slowing into a deep, rhythmic pattern. I rest my head on his chest. I listen to the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart.
Above us, the full moon hangs in the crisp autumn sky. It is massive, bright, and entirely silent. It no longer looks like a prison for a primordial entity of pure entropy. It
