And after. After, dreams of what would be.
Sometimes, she would be his friend, listening to his tales of youth in England, sharing her deepest secrets with him.
Sometimes she would be his lover, rolling with him in his spacious bed, soft beneath his sheets. Speaking tender words of love.
Sometimes they would both be warriors, fighting together side-by-side, perfect physical compliments in the good fight.
Sometimes they would be a couple, going to movies, double dates with friends. Holding hands in the park.
And sometimes, very rarely, she would wear a white lace dress and promise to be his forever.
But now, the reality of it all. “You’re a thing.” He winced with pain. “An evil disgusting thing.”
“You were... convenient.”
And he, like a fool, hitting back with fists, hitting back with words.
Sometimes, as much as he loved her, as grateful as he was to be with her, he wished that it were still a dream.