She knew the moment his body hit the ground.

Tears welled in her eyes and she sighed with soft grief. Stories ended, naturally, abruptly, gently and if the moment was bitter sweet, still there was a sense of fulfillment. This was different. It was the opportunity of him she mourned, the loss of all the stories he would never take part in. It also made her afraid to be so lost.

Lifting her gaze, she peered into that space between, seeking comfort from the one whose imagination she embodied. When communion came she gasped and threw her head back, and her face began to change into those others who lived within her creatrix.

A Russian girl…a fire daemon…

Stories poured through her, many belonging to others.

An ageless elf…an astronaut…she was all of these and more.

Understanding came, revealing that stories lived beyond those who told them, moving from one imagination to the next.

Bowing her head in gratitude, the Lady’s features rippled for a heartbeat into those of the man beneath the stands.