I may not always know what's right, but I know I want you here tonight.
A rare, navy-grey cloud drifted across the full moon, temporarily casting a shadow over Croe’s face. In the brief absence of the silvery light, the world around her fell into darkness.

Ordinarily, Mallos never fumbled for words. His command of language was a gift which was eclipsed by divinity, shining only when he had to make do without the latter. He could contextually deconstruct unfamiliar words faster than navigational equipment and understood, in almost every circumstance, what to say to evoke a desired reaction. On this occasion, words failed him. Mallos fell back on a more universal language: he leant in and kissed her deeply.

Overhead, the cloud idly passed by, releasing the intoxicating rays of the full moon. Pearly light fell over them, catching Mallos’ sun-pendant, which glinted gold. He pulled back slightly, glancing down to study it, before reaching across to one-handedly tug the thin black cord over his head. Holding the stylised solar symbol in the palm of his hand, he exhaled slowly, letting the magic flow into it. A thread of golden-yellow light spiralled down his arm into the pendant. A slight frown creased Mallos’ brow as he concentrated on dispensing divinity, and he was so focused that he almost started when Croe placed a gentle hand over the top of pendant, obscuring it from view. Understanding her meaning without words needing to be exchanged, he closed his fingers up and over both the pendant and her hand, pulling the magic from her too. The light which spiralled down Croe’s arm was a dark, smoky grey, like an electric cloud. When she withdrew her hand, the divine logo gleamed unassumingly in the moonlight.

Mallos tossed it away onto the grass and leant in to kiss her again.


In the absence of magic to sharpen the senses, the world always seemed greyer and duller. It said something that, as Mallos lay back against the grass with his arm around his lover – his love - he reflected that he’d never experienced her so attentively before. Or, indeed, felt so undressed himself. It was as though their revelations had heightened the physical sensations in a way which surpassed even divine magic.

It was a novel experience. That, too, was saying something, for someone whose age numbered somewhere in the murky thousands.

With his free hand, he reached across to brush aside a single strand of black hair from her forehead.

“I want you to know,” he cupped his hand around her jawline and pressed his lips against hers, “that I have been in love before, and people have been in love with me before. But this is the first time the two have been in line.”