T. J. Klune

Once, the moon had loved the sun.
Once, there was a boy who had loved a wolf.
Once, an old witch had spoken of choice, of truth and prophecy.
And it was blue, so much of it was blue, but I was tired of it. I was tired of feeling this way, of being alone, of being scared, of thinking that I couldn't have what I wanted more than anything in this world.
And so I made my choice.
I chose the wolf.

I took three steps forward, my hands going up to Mark Bennett's face. He flinched, eyes flaring, but it was already too late to stop it.
I kissed him. There, in the darkened room while snow fell outside.
At first he didn't respond, and I thought I'd misunderstood. That I was too late. That the gulf between us was too wide to ever be crossed.
But then he sighed and slumped against me, his hands on my hips, the raven still clutched between his fingers. I felt the sharp press of its wooden wing against my side. He sang a song in my head of gordo love mate please love, and though it was tinged with blue and blue and blue, there was a thread of green shot right through the middle, of relief and hope. It was like I was young again and there was this boy, this tall, gangly boy sitting against a tree in summer, his feet bare in the green, green grass, and he was my shadow, following me everywhere, telling me he was trying to keep me safe from bad guys. I'd sat up on my knees and kissed him because it felt like the right thing to do. Everything about Mark Bennett had felt right, even then in the summer when we hadn't known just how sharp teeth could be.

We weren't young anymore.
But it still felt like we could be.
It still felt like this could be a first time.