Jill stepped through the portal, and she was radiant—literally. Silver light clung to her skin like mist, soft and ethereal, making her edges blur slightly as if she existed partially in another space. Her hair was longer than he remembered, falling past her shoulders. She wore robes of pale white fabric.

  "You came, Clive."

  "Just like I said I would… I always keep my promises."

  "You always did." She took a step closer, then stopped. Her hands twisted together in front of her. "Even when I didn't deserve them."

  The wind gusted across the plateau, cold and sharp. Clive barely felt it.

  "What happened, Jill? What's going on?"

  She looked away, toward the moon hanging huge and bright above them. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. "That's... complicated."

  "We have time." He took a step forward. "Please. I need to understand."

  She extended her hand toward him, palm up. The silver light radiating from her skin made it hard to tell where her fingers ended and the moonlight began.

  "Come."

  Clive stared at her hand for a long moment. Then he reached out and took it.

  Her skin was cool. Not cold, but cooler than human warmth should be. Her fingers closed around his with a gentle pressure that sent a jolt of memory through him. How many times had they held hands like this? Walking through Venice Beach, her thumb tracing absent patterns against his palm. Sitting in his apartment while she fell asleep against his shoulder.

  She led him across the plateau. He followed, hyperaware of every point where their skin touched. The wind had died down, leaving the summit eerily still.

  They stopped at the northern edge.

  Clive's stomach dropped. The cliff face fell away into nothing—just darkness and the suggestion of vast empty space below. No guardrail or barrier. Just a clean drop that his [Artist's Eyes] couldn't even calculate the depth of.

  Jill sat down, letting her legs dangle over the edge. She released his hand and looked up at the sky.

  "The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

  Clive stood frozen for a heartbeat. The rational part of his brain catalogued the danger. The last time he saw her, she had stabbed him. Now, staring at the abyss below, Clive couldn’t help but wonder how easy it would be to slip.

  But Jill sat there like it was the most natural thing in the world, her face looking upwards, silver light reflecting in her eyes.

  No. He trusted her. She was still Jill. He sat down beside her, his legs hanging over the edge.

  The moon hung directly overhead. It was so big, so close that it felt like he could reach up and touch it.

  "Yeah," he said quietly. "It is. The moon is beautiful."

  Jill was silent for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the lunar surface. "Do you remember our promise?"

  Clive's chest constricted. Of course, he did. Their promise from way back then. "I've been looking at the moon." He paused.

  "Every night," he said. "Every full moon." His voice roughened. "Because no matter where we are—"

  “—we will always be looking at the same moon.” She finished the sentence, just like she used to finish his thoughts. Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.

  The silence stretched between them. Clive wanted to say something more, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say?

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Why?" He finally blurted out. He turned to look at her profile, haloed in silver light. "Why are you here, Jill? How did you—what happened after..."

  After I died. He couldn't quite say it.

  Jill's hands tightened in her lap. She didn't look at him. "After you died, I couldn't—" She stopped. Started again. "I prayed. Every day. To anyone who would listen." A bitter laugh escaped her. "Everyone thought I was losing my mind. Maybe I was."

  Clive waited. His heart hammered against his ribs.

  "Then one night, she appeared. A goddess, she called herself. She told me..." Her fingers tightened on Clive’s hand. "She said if I completed her mission, she would grant me a miracle. Any miracle I wanted."

  "And what did you ask?"

  "I wanted you back." The words came out broken. "God, Clive, I would have done anything. She told me what I had to do, and I—" Her voice caught. "I didn't even hesitate."

  “Jill… you shouldn’t make deals with strange goddesses.”

  "I know. She told me there would be a price. That there's always a price." She finally turned to look at him, and the pain in her eyes made him flinch. "I didn't care, Clive. You were dead. Do you understand? You were gone and it was—" Her voice broke. "I just wanted you back."

  Clive shifted closer. Slowly, he put his arm around her shoulders.

  She went rigid for a moment—like she'd forgotten what human contact felt like. Then she collapsed against him, her head dropping to his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry." The words felt pathetically inadequate. "God, Jill, I'm so sorry. For everything. For how things ended between us, for—"

  "Don't." She shook her head sharply. "Don't apologize. Not for that. You died because of me, Clive. If I hadn’t said those horrible things—"

  "That wasn't your fault."

  "Wasn't it? I was so angry. So hurt. I wanted you to feel something, anything, even if it was just guilt. And then you—" She stopped, her hands shaking. "You were just gone."

  "I'm here now. It’s all over now.” He said, even as an uneasy feeling remained in his chest. Because he was here, yes. But everything else? The mission she'd been given, whatever she'd become, the corruption spreading through those cultists below—none of that was over. "Jill, what did she ask you to do? What was the mission?"

  She went still against him. Then, slowly, she lifted her head from his shoulder.

  The warmth drained from her expression. Her eyes, when they met his, were distant.

  "I wish you hadn't asked that." Her voice was completely cold now, stripped of the emotion that had filled it moments before. "I wish this moment could have lasted forever. Just a little longer."

  Clive's stomach dropped. "Jill?"

  She pulled away from him, creating space between them on the cliff edge. The silver light around her seemed to intensify. "You talk like him. You move like him. When you touched my hand, for a second, I almost believed—" She stopped. Shook her head. "But I know you're not him."

  "What are you talking about?" His pulse kicked up. "Jill, it's me. I'm right here."

  "No." The word was final. "Clive Weston died in Los Angeles. I saw his charred corpse with my own two eyes." Her hands clenched at her sides. "The goddess told me what happened. How his soul was taken, twisted into something new. You're a copy. A puppet wearing his face. Built from fragments of who he was, but you’re not him. Not the man I loved."

  Clive started to stand, to reach for her. "Listen to me—"

  "My mission," she said, and her voice had gone completely dead, "was to kill the fake you. To destroy the abomination that wears his soul. And when I do—when I complete what she asked—she promised she'd bring him back. The real Clive. My Clive."

  The world seemed to slow.

  Clive saw her hand come up. Saw the cold determination in her eyes.

  "Jill, don't—"

  She shoved him. Hard.

  Clive's boots slipped on the ice-slick stone.

  His hands clawed for something to grip, but there was nothing.

  And then he was falling.

  The cliff face blurred past him. His stomach lurched into his throat as gravity seized him. He was certain that he was about to die. Again.

  So it comes to this after all.

  Some part of him had known. Had suspected that this might have happened. If he wanted Jill back, he would have to bring her back himself.

  “Azura!” he yelled.

  CLIVE!

  Something massive slammed into him from the side. Talons closed around his torso, as his downward plummet became a chaotic sideways tumble as Azura pulled out of her dive.

  I've got you, she gasped. I've got you. You're safe.

  Her wings beat hard, straining against the thin air. Then her flight faltered and they fell through the air.

  No— Azura's mental voice was sharp with panic. Not enough air—can't—

  His hand found his brush.

  Wind. He needed wind. Updraft. Thermal current.

  [Paint: Green Gale]

  A massive gust of wind erupted beneath them, slamming upward with enough power to make Azura's wings snap taut. She roared as the artificial current caught her and lifted.

  They shot upward, flying past the peak of the summit.

  And there, twenty feet away, Jill stared at him.

  He stood on upright on Azura’s back. "Jill." His voice carried across the distance between them. "I don't know what that goddess told you. But it's a lie. All of it."

  "The only lie here is you. A fake."

  "I'm as real as you are, Jill. And I'm not going anywhere without you."

  He aimed his brush at her.

  -------------------

  We promised to look at the same moon. We never promised we would see the same thing.

  —The Legendary Moonlight Artist