He spent years and years watching her blur and fade, disappear and reappear, live and die, then finally settle into something a bit more permanent but not eternal because nothing ever really is. A startling change, because the only thing he thought would never change was her constant changing. But he was happy for her because she became something more true to herself, or at least tried to. A thing with gossamar wings and hollow bones. Dark hair and bright eyes.
She told him once about the things her mother used to say about her. That she was born in the wrong time, the wrong place. That she couldn't be really happy because of the way people were in their time, that she really belonged in some royal court, curtseying to the nobles, or being curtseyed to.
It made him wonder if that was why she didn't like being herself. Because of other people. Because she was afraid of how they'd react if they really knew anything about her.
But he didn't know everything either.
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