The fever started in her throat, caught her fast so her words proved false; cutting up her esophagus, scraping against the roof of her mouth, bleeding from the inside and poisoning her speech. Her lips turned pale and shook when he kissed her. She was dying in his arms. He would comb her hair away from her face and it would tear off in chunks in his hands. Her eyelashes were falling off and she often fell from dizzy spells. Her skin was chalky white, though her eyes burned like night fires lit by vengeance. He could not touch her without leaving dark, deep scars on her skin; even cloth could not provide a barrier for his fingertips on hers. His breath sent her into violent fits of coughing and she could hardly bear his embrace. Their love would not fail, though he often cried for her at night when the stars shone with vicious remembrance of the past.

She told him with a patient smile that she would not perish for nothing, that their love was worth the worst and most painful deaths and that she would sustain. He would shake his head and look away. Her eyes would flicker in sadness and her broken words would be uttered, “Do you still love me?” His heart would not lie. “Of course, you’re the ground under my feet and the sky above me. The earth is not as beautiful as you; even now you’re lovelier to me than a blanket of stars or an ocean sunrise.” She would smile, though her features dropped in fatigue, and nod, falling back into dreary sleep. Her whispers caressed the bedside, “Then we can’t let her win.”

The air clung and grew with static, building into a hot summer storm. The thunder brought tension that made him fly into rage at every strike and blow. He sat on a broken rooftop and gazed at the threatening sky. It was her laughter. It was her joy. He cursed the sky for being in tune with a monster that had brought such pain to his life. He sat and reflected upon what had brought him here, and why he cursed the devil named Sylph who had made his life as dark as that night.

Many months ago, on a journey to rid the forest of rebellion, a traveler had come across a cluster of clouds that floated down from the heavens and caused him to cease his journey; the fog was much too thick to continue. Upon stopping, he saw a magnificent being materialize before his eyes, as if out of the fog itself. She wore a smug smile and came towards him, her figure growing slowly from translucent to opaque.

“Weary traveler, from whence do you come?” She hovered slightly above him as she spoke, her words light and airy.

“The castle in the valley. I am not much weary for it is only a stone’s throw from here.”

“You must have marvelous strength, perhaps one such as a prince is endowed with.” Her words played in the air. “You are a prince, are you not?”

“I am. My name is Flynn. And what may you be, an apparition?” He gazed at her gauzy skin and pearled hair.

“My name is Sylph. Tell me, prince, have you not seen one more beautiful, more charming and more graceful than I?”

He considered this a moment and nodded, his hair falling across his eyes, “I have.”

Sylph’s reaction was that of disgust. She flew back and the fog around her coloured darkly, “Who?”

Flynn’s eyes softened and he brushed back the hair that had shadowed his eyes, “Her name is Tegan. I love her more than life.”

She frowned, but drew closer, “Is this Tegan a princess?”

“No, but she will be a queen. I wish to marry her.”

Sylph paused and the fog lightened. She moved close to Flynn, her hands dusting the sides of his face. Her lips met his and she pulled him up with her high into the reveling sky. She broke the kiss and grabbed his wrists with both of her hands. They were 40 feet, poised upon the clouds.

Her smile turned into a hideous grin and she coiled her body around his and breathed her words close to his face, “Will you not trade your love for this peasant girl for mine? I control the air, the sky, all of this. Will you not love me?”

His course was set and his love was strong, “I am faithful to her. I won’t… I can’t trade her for you.”

She let go of one of his wrists and he dangled by her grip on one of his arms. He winced in pain. “No man shall refuse me. You don’t know what you’re doing, Prince Flynn. You will suffer as I do. You will suffer because she will suffer.”

He twisted and tried to grab her wrist but his hand went through it, as if the particles had dissipated as he tried to touch her.

“Yes,” she hissed, “your love shall wither and die at your touch. She will die because you love her. And then you will not love her anymore. You will love me, because I am not frail and weak. You will love me because you have to. You will love me because I am the most beautiful, most charming and most graceful being to ever exist. No one refuses me.”

She glanced sideways at her companion and a smile slithered on to her face, “Love her, Prince Flynn. Love her while you can.”

Her release was quick and he tumbled through the air, his limbs pulling and contorting at violent angles as he plummeted. A branch tore across his cheek and another snatched at his clothing. Her laughter wrought the air and his body hit the ground with a sound like thunder.

(...the ending...I couldn't bring myself to find a suitable ending. Perhaps she dies, perhaps their love prevails. Tell me how you think this should end, if it should at all.)