All things end

As time passed, I couldn't shake the feeling of disbelief that someone like Dora could truly care for me. Her love seemed like a beacon of light in the darkness, a warmth that I had long thought impossible to find again. Yet, as much as I wanted to embrace it, there was a nagging voice in the back of my mind, reminding me of the countless reasons why we shouldn't be together.

I never imagined that I could fall in love again, not after the brightest star had collided with my life, leaving an indelible imprint before flickering out into the veil. Yet, here she was, Nymhadora, with her infectious laughter and unwavering kindness, breaking down the walls I had built around my heart. It felt like the universe had played a cruel trick on us, bringing us together in the middle of a war.

There was always an undercurrent of doubt, a fear that our happiness was fleeting. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was undeserving of her love, that my darkness would inevitably taint her light. And so, even as we reveled in each other's company, I couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom, the knowledge that our love was like a delicate flower, beautiful yet fragile, destined to wither away before its time.

"There's something tragic about you / Something so magic about you / Don't you agree?"

We got married, and not long after, she was expecting. The news should have brought joy, but instead, it stirred a storm of emotions within me. How could I allow myself to love someone, when my very existence posed a constant threat to her safety? The fear of hurting her, of becoming a burden she could not bear and then she actually came to bear my burden.

I was filled with uncertainty. The weight of responsibility felt overwhelming—I didn't feel prepared for it. Fatherhood wasn't something I had ever envisioned for myself. What if the child… became like me? I couldn't bear the thought of possibly passing on the curse of lycanthropy, of subjecting an innocent soul to the pain and isolation that had plagued my life. The fear gnawed at me, consuming my thoughts, and clouding my judgment. In one of my darkest moments, I convinced myself that running away was the only option, the coward's way out. I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes, to face the reality of what I had done to her.

And so, when she gave birth to our child, I fled, leaving Dora alone to face the task of raising our child. It was a selfish act, driven by fear and uncertainty, as I grappled with the weight of my own inner turmoil. The darkness that lurked within me seemed too dangerous to subject them to. I convinced myself that leaving was the only way to protect them from the potential harm I could inflict on their life.

Eventually I found the courage to return to Dora and our child, Teddy. The weight of their absence had gnawed at me, each passing day amplifying the ache in my heart. Yet, it took being lectured and labeled a coward by several different people to shake me from my self-imposed exile.

As I stood before them, shame burning in my chest, I knew that I had much to make amends for. The hurt and confusion in Dora's eyes mirrored the turmoil within my own soul. How could I expect forgiveness when I had abandoned them?

Every moment was plagued by memories of her tear-stained face, the echo of her cries haunting me like a relentless specter. The shame of abandoning her tore at my soul, a constant reminder of my own failings. I was consumed by guilt, unable to forgive myself for the pain I had caused her. But I couldn't bear the thought of losing her, couldn't bear the idea of living without her love. And so, with trembling hands and a voice thick with emotion, I confessed my deepest regrets, begging for her forgiveness.

Dora's reaction was as I had expected, and she had every right to respond with anger, skepticism and hesitation. After all, I had abandoned her, leaving her to face parenthood alone. But despite the accusations, the harsh words and the understandable doubt in her eyes, there was also a glimmer of something else—a flicker of forgiveness, perhaps, a hint of hope

“Her fight and fury is fiery”

Despite my mistakes, she was willing to give me another chance. I was willing to confront my demons, to prove to Dora and to myself that I was worthy of her love and trust. I was willing to face the darkness within myself in order to find the light of redemption.

And Teddy, my boy, was remarkable. From the moment I held him in my arms again, a rush of emotions flooded over me—love so profound it felt as though my heart might burst, mixed with a fierce protectiveness that shadowed everything else. He was a symbol of hope and redemption in a world plagued by death and destruction. Watching him grow and thrive filled me with an overwhelming sense of pride. Every milestone he reached, every laugh that bubbled from his lips, was pure magic. He was a constant reminder of the beauty and wonder that still existed in the world, despite the shadows that threatened to engulf us.

But it was more than just pride that filled my heart—it was a love so immense, it defied description. It was a love born of sacrifice, of mistakes made and lessons learned. It was a love that transcended time and space, forging between a father and son, the strongest of bonds.

And in those moments, as I watched him sleep peacefully in his crib, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, I knew that I would do anything to protect him. He was my son, and I would move heaven and earth to ensure that he never had to face the darkness alone like I had. He was my reason to persevere, and I would do whatever it took to protect his innocence and dreams.

Dora and I may not have gotten everything right immediately, but our love was genuine and wholehearted.