For a long time there is no movement. Nobody comes from the tangle of dark shadows, and Tolio wonders if she will not come. It wouldn’t surprise him, not really. If she didn’t, he would be able to hold on to his anger. He doesn’t really know where it came from, but it is far better than the heart-breaking love he feels all other hours of the day. Anything to escape that wretched pain of knowing that she was pregnant with his child, and yet he could not be with her. It was like trying to hate someone you loved, and it was completely impossible, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t try. For some reason, his anger numbed him. It helped keep away the love, but it was a weak foe; easily crushed under the love he held for the dark aureate lass. His love is fire, and his anger a block of ice. It withstands, but never for any length of time. It is inevitable, and he suspects that the moment she appears into the sun from the darkness of her home, it will crash into him all over again.

When she does come, he is horrified. He knows it is her, for his heart tells him so. There could be no mistaking her form, the way she moves. And yet, he has never been more disappointed. Love crashes over him like a wave, and even in this state he is head over hoof for her. Sadness pervades his eyes, seeing how emaciated and decayed she looks. And even then, he loves her. She is far from beautiful now, and yet his heart quickens at seeing her. He wonders, then, what she could have possibly wanted for the Gods to curse her with such an existence. It saddens him, for he knows inside that she is vain. And yet, never around him. In his presence she is pure, she is love. She is simply Phaedra. Beauty has never drawn him to her, for he has never fancied females anyways. Tolio knows that others find her stunning, and that she uses it to her advantage, but he saw inside her ribcage and peered at her heart and loved her. Somewhere behind all the insecurity, vanity, and pride, she was an honestly beautiful woman. Aesthetics aside, he had never love another so wholeheartedly in his entire life. It pains him to see her in such a state, and yet he steps forward to greet her nonetheless. She is his kryptonite, and he is no longer Superman in her presence. He’s hardly a fumbling colt, the warrior within whimpering and hiding beneath the fierceness of his emotions.

Her eyes, sea foam and sweet grass, are filled with sadness. Soft dulcet tones have disappeared into a hoarse whisper that he is still enthralled by. Why must he love her so? It is like loving a wilting flower, hoping it will bloom for you once more. He’s not quite sure who the flower is anymore. Her apology shocks him, yet face softens. He listens to her, not interrupting. Letting her get everything out she needed to say, feeling as if he needed to hear it all out in the open as well. ”I don’t know what to do, Phaedra. I still don’t. I love you, but I don’t want you to be a dirty little secret. You’re worth more than that. Yet I want to be a part of my child’s life. I cannot join you in the Grey, and you cannot follow me to the Basin. I just…don’t know what you think we can do, love,” he crooned softly, feeling far calmer than before. She is here now, and that is all that matters. Stepping forward he closed the awkward distance between them, brushing his muzzle over her graying one. It is a bit disconcerting, to see her like this, but he still loves her. Lips brush up over her cheek, reminiscent to the touch he had bestowed upon her in the Grove. Down her neck and to her spine, dropping away only as he neared the middle of her back. ”Phaedra…why have you done this to yourself, love?” It is nearly impossible to stop himself from calling her that, and pained blue-silver orbs meet hers. What magic was possibly worth being cursed in such a way?