I awoke to her silhouette on the wall. I shut my eyes immediately.
There was a click, the sliding of the window in its pane. I heard clearly the usually muffled noise of the city, the billowing of the curtains, the gentle breeze, the flap of her wings.
I stayed silent, still, asleep, I told myself. It was a nightmare, it had to be.
The beat of her wings grew faster, closer, and then slowed to nothing as I felt her weight on the bed. I steeled myself to not jump when she laid down with a sigh.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked in that sweet, sad tone she always used when arriving in the middle of the night. I shifted slightly, nothing more than the reflexes of a sleeping mare.
The sheets and blanket shifted, lifting up and then dropping down. Their weight joined hers on me. She draped a hoof around my barrel and pulled herself against me. Familiar sensations followed, too different to be memory alone.
The tingle of a hot exhale on my neck, just before she rested her chin on my shoulder. The arhythmic flutter of her wings as she settled in, wafting air over my back. The heat of her body, slowly winning over the night air clinging desperately to her coat.
I managed not to scream, to keep my breathing steady and slow, as she nuzzled my neck and giggled. I clenched my teeth, biting into my cheek.
“I know, I know. I'm sorry, Starfall.” My ear flicked at the feeling of her breath. She draped a wing over my side. “But I'm here now, aren’t I?”
She couldn’t be.
Her wing moved back and forth, the tips of her feathers sending shivers up my spine. Her lips inched towards my ear, gentle kisses peppered along the way, interrupted only by her laughter. “Starfall the working mare and Morning Breeze the night owl. I think we’re a perfect pair,” she whispered as she wrapped her hoof around my foreleg. “What, you think starcrossed is too on the nose?”
I caught the sob in my throat, my withers shuddering against her. The wound was too fresh, opened night after night. A shift in the breeze blew over us. She shivered. Her wings went rigid. She took deep, slow breaths. She was supposed to be crying, but I didn’t feel her tears.
“I-I know I should have been more careful.”
Tears stained my cheeks, I tasted iron in my mouth. I shut my eyes tighter, but sleep wouldn’t come. The ringing and throbbing in my ears never drowned her out.
“Of course I’m happy: I’m here with you. I may not like being cooped up—” Her hoof guided my leg over my belly in what should have been a gentle caress, but it felt too tight, too desperate, forced. “But I can manage a few months, for us.” The heat of her body became sweltering. Her feathers felt jagged and rough, like unsharpened claws grazing over my flank. Something hot and wet dripped from them and ran down my legs.
“I just want to fly with you.”
Her hoof left my leg and cupped my chin. She turned my head towards her. Part of me wanted so badly to open my eyes and see her, but I knew it wasn’t her. I resisted and pulled my head out of her grip.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, again and again, as many times as I wish I could have said when it mattered.
All of the love left her voice.
“What’s wrong with me? I’m broken is what’s wrong with me!” Her wings flapped angrily, uselessly, against my sides. Feathers and bandages and blood rained down on me. The breeze became a roaring wind.
“Stuck in this apartment with you, stuck in this life with you. It’s suffocating!” She wrapped her hooves around me like a vice: my legs, my body, my neck pulled taut against her.
“I’ll never get what I want,” she spat, lips against my ear. I heard the other voice below it.
“And neither will you.”
The room shook and creaked under the gale. I couldn’t hear myself, but then it stopped. The eye of the storm.
Her grip lessened, she caressed my cheek. Her wings, bandaged tightly, stroked softly over my back. She nuzzled my neck. I felt her tears on my coat.
“I just want…” it began, “...to fly with you.”
I awoke in sweat-drenched sheets. The morning noise of the city filtered in: honking horns, hurried hooves, and cacophonous chatter. A gentle breeze flowed into my room. I kept my eyes shut, even though I could no longer feel her body on me.
I opened my eyes and saw my shadow on the wall. It still took me seconds to work up the nerve glance over my shoulder.
I stared at the open window for minutes. I willed myself to remember that I had left it open the previous night, to forget that I hadn’t closed it before bed, to believe I hadn’t locked it tight for that and every other night.
Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed and walked to the window. I stopped a few hoofsteps away, eyes staring at the empty air.
I didn’t want to remember her standing on the windowsill, her wings still bound with bandages.
I took a step forward.
I didn’t want to hear her tell me she was ready to fly with me.
I took a step forward. I placed a hoof on the window sill.
I didn’t want to look down and see her plummeting thirty stories, reaching out to me, smiling.
I took a step forward. I placed a hoof on the window sill. I closed my eyes.
I didn’t want to be tormented by that thing wearing her skin, speaking her voice.
I took a step forward. I placed a hoof on the window sill.
The breeze was a gale.
I took a step forward.
