The immortal king Jasreth stood on the bank and looked at the woman, her dark hair dancing in the wind. Purple blossoms landed on her light blue robes. He had seen a smile on her lips, one that made her face light up and illuminated her beauty in a way that stole his breathe.

He had used his power to hide himself from mortal eyes, hoping to use these stolen moments to look at her once more.

She would never know that the man who had hurt her so much, that she had chosen to leave was just on the other side of the river.

He stared at her, scared that if he blinked, she would be gone again. He was so scared to look away but knew that he was on borrowed time.

The last time she saw him, the last time he saw her was in the realm of lost souls.

She had chosen to leave him and as she walked onto that boat, choosing to be reborn instead of being anywhere near him, she had told him something that took him centuries to understand.

She had smiled at him with the politeness of strangers as he begged her to take him with her. She had asked him if he remembered what she had asked him in the garden. It was the same words that she spoke to him the moment she died in his arms.

"This saddest goodbye is not when the one you love dies."

He looked at the woman who was now on the bridge. He had used all the magic he possessed to create a spell that would help him find her reborn soul. It was a spell that costed everything but his life and greatly weakened him. But he was immortal and magic would return. But this spell could only work once, it had no effect after that.

This was his last chance to see her. And no matter the cost, he would pay it.

Far on the other bank, the girl did not notice anything in the garden as she stood on the bridge.

She reached out and plucked a blossom from the air, playing with it as she waited for someone.

Carefully she put it to her nose and tapped it idly to her mouth as she stared at the little gate, lost in thought.

After a while, she once again turned to look at the little river, towards the spot where he stood. For some reason, she could not resist peeking to see if the mysterious stranger in black was truly gone.

What a strange man she had met, and yet, so familiar. She shook her head as if to clear the ghost of those thoughts away.

And then she forgot.

Sunlight broke through the cloudy day, illuminating the peaceful stream that lay between them. One in deep black, his back straight and his eyes unyielding, his body and aura hidden in layers of magical spells. He could not leave, did not want to leave. He would stay and see why she remained by herself in this garden.

She stood in light blue, her figure shrouded in dancing flowers, ethereal and otherworldly.

Another man walked to her and grabbed her hand. She gave a little jump and smiled into her fiancee's eyes.

The purple flower fell out of her palm and landed next to her feet as she gave him both of her hands. It tumbled away carelessly onto the green grass, swept away from her and towards the river bank.

They stood, smiling at each other, only at each other. He was just a simple scholar, a school teacher who had no ambitions of power or glory. He was plain, neither too rich nor too poor. But he loved her, and had wooed her relentlessly until she said yes.

"Did you wait long?"

"Only long enough to collect a layer of flower petals. It's everywhere, I probably look like a crazy person."

"You are always, and will be, beautiful."

"Even when I grow old and have wrinkles?"

"Especially then. Surrounded by our grandchildren and with me by your side." His eye were bright with the prospects of the future.

She smiled, imagining the picture as he continued a little fiercely, "And by then, no one will fight with me for you. I'll have you all to myself. They'll all be old and dead."

She rolled her eyes, "Your jealousy is overflowing."

"Can't help it when my bride is you."

His large hands held hers as if they were the most precious things in the world. He grinned, a large grin that was ear to ear.

"We're in public. You can't hold my hands. It's improper." But there was a slight smile on her lips and she did not pull away.

"But I'm the only man in this world who can hold these hands."

The immortal on the other side of the river closed his eyes. The pain was indescribable and real, yet he was so happy that she was happy.

She blushed and glared at her betrothed "Mine better be the only pair you hold in this life."

"When I first saw you I know that I knew that you were the only woman for me."

Gently, he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a delicate tiny glass bell. In the light wind, it began to sing its song.

She laughed, "Tradition dictates that I give you mine first!"

He looked at her woefully, "I was worried that you would accept a bell from some stranger. I must be first."

She laughed and held up an identical bell, "You silly man."

"Your silly man." He took her bell and held it in both hands, "Come let's go make our prayers."

She laughed, the sound mixed with the twinkling of the bells. The most beautiful song in the world.

He began to lead her away, "I found a rare poem by that poet you really like, Patrick Lionsbane."

"One I haven't read? What a treat!"

"Yes, it's a bit sad though, it's a story of how a sky flower fell in love with a river. The first verse is...."

She let him pull her towards the other side of the garden where they would make their prayer.

After a while, the woman and man faded into the distance, their voices carrying to the immortal.

"I can't wait for our wedding day...I'm going to invite the whole town..."

"Don't! They'll try to get you drunk and then I'll have to take care of you..."

"Only this once, and then, I'll take care of you the rest of my life..."

The rest of my life. Those words seemed to be caught in the cavity where his heart once lived.

"Look at me." Jasreth begged, underneath his breath, his proud figure finally showing the hint of vulnerability.

But Miri kept walking, her robes and hair dancing in the wind until her laugh in the accompaniment of bells was all that was left, the echo dancing away, the lingering final note of a song that he would never hear again.

"Just one glance. Please."

She would never look back.

A few purple blooms had breached the bank where he stood, they touched his boot, their purple petals quivering in the light wind.

He bent down to pick up the flowers, but the moment his fingers touched their softness, they began to disappear into tiny flecks of light.

Staring at the place where the petals had been, he slowly dropped his hand.

This had always been her answer. The tree had been steeped in her blood. She would never allow him to touch her ever again.

He looked at the opposite bank, at the place where the lovers stood. There, the lone flower that she had held, rolled haphazardly towards the river. Helplessly, quietly, he watched as it fell into the river and disappeared into peaceful obscurity.

He remembered the little song she had sang.

On lonely branch the bloom did fall

To love a river who cared naught

And give and give and give their all

Only to watch the river flow away, all their love forgot.

He finally understood the words that she had told him when she died. They were not words of comfort. She was giving him a cruel and fitting punishment.

"The saddest goodbyes is not when the one you love dies."

But when the one you love forgets.