The first light of dawn crept into the great hall of Notre Dame, filtering through the stained glass windows and casting soft hues of gold and crimson across the stone floor. Lucien sat in the center of it all, cradling Céline’s still form in his arms. The storm had passed, leaving an eerie silence broken only by his whispers.

Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. The ritual had worked; he could feel it in every fiber of his being. The centuries-old curse that had bound him to darkness was gone. For the first time in lifetimes, he felt the warmth of blood coursing through his veins, his heart beating steadily in his chest.

But the cost was unbearable.

“Céline,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Please, come back to me.”

She didn’t stir. Her body was as light as a feather in his arms, her chest rising and falling with agonizing slowness. The venom that had once coursed through his blood had left her teetering on the edge of life and death.

The irony was not lost on him. For years, he had longed for freedom, and now that he had it, it felt like a hollow victory. What was mortality without her? He would trade it all—every fleeting moment of warmth, every sunrise yet to come—just to see her smile again.

“I would give eternity for you,” he whispered, his tears falling onto her pale cheeks. “A thousand lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. Just… stay.”

The first rays of sunlight crept across the floor, bathing them in a warm glow. Lucien tightened his grip, his heart breaking with every passing second.

A faint sigh escaped her lips.

Lucien froze, his eyes searching her face desperately. Her lashes fluttered, and slowly, achingly, her eyes opened. They were heavy with exhaustion but filled with the same unwavering love that had brought him to his knees so many times before.

“Lucien,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, my love.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “It worked.”

“It did,” he said, his hands trembling as he held her closer. “You saved me. But now—”

She pressed a finger weakly to his lips, silencing him. “No regrets,” she murmured. “I’d do it all again. You… you are worth it.”

Tears streamed down his face. “Don’t leave me, Céline. Please. There has to be a way.”

Her eyes softened, and she lifted a hand to his cheek, her touch feather-light. “I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice steady despite her fragility. “I’ll always be with you. In every heartbeat, every breath.”

As her strength faded, she leaned forward, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was achingly tender. Unlike before, it wasn’t laced with venom but with life. For a brief moment, the world seemed to stand still, their love transcending the boundaries of life and death.

When they pulled apart, her eyes met his one last time, filled with a peace that made his heart ache even more. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice fading into the stillness.

And then, like a candle extinguished, she was gone.

***

Lucien sat in silence for hours, holding her lifeless body as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The warmth that had returned to his blood felt like a cruel reminder of what he had lost. When the bells of Notre Dame began to toll, he rose, carrying Céline in his arms.

The streets of Paris had never seemed so bright. For centuries, Lucien had walked them as a phantom, unnoticed and untouched by time. Now, every step felt heavier, each sound sharper, each color brighter. But none of it mattered. The light of his world was gone.

He buried Céline in a quiet corner of the city, beneath a cherry blossom tree that she had once admired. The blossoms were in full bloom, their petals falling like soft snow. He marked her grave with a simple stone, inscribed with her name and a single line:

“Her love was stronger than eternity.”

In the days that followed, Lucien withdrew from the world. The newfound mortality he had once craved now felt like a curse, each heartbeat a painful reminder of what he had lost. But he couldn’t let her memory fade.

He began to write, pouring his soul into poetry that captured the essence of their love. His words painted pictures of their moments together, of her laughter, her courage, her sacrifice. Paris became his muse, its streets and bridges echoing with memories of her.

Lucien vowed never to love again. It wasn’t a decision born of bitterness or despair but of reverence. Céline had given him everything, and he would honor her by carrying her spirit with him for the rest of his days.

Years passed, and Lucien aged as all mortals do. Yet, his love for Céline remained eternal, a flame that never dimmed. On quiet evenings, he would sit beneath her cherry blossom tree, the petals falling around him like whispers of her presence. And in those moments, he could almost feel her beside him, her laughter carried on the wind.

Though she was gone, their love endured. It wasn’t bound by time or mortality but lived on in every word he wrote, every step he took, and every sunrise he witnessed. Céline had been right. She would always be with him.

And so, Lucien walked the bright streets of Paris, a man forever changed, carrying the eternal echo of her love in his heart.

The End