The first time you met Rio, she emerged from the trees like something out of an old story—untamed, ethereal, and carrying a presence so ancient it made the earth itself seem young. The sun slipped through the canopy in golden shards, catching in the strands of her dark hair. You hadn't known what she was then, only that she looked at you with eyes that held storms and sunsets all at once.

You saw her again the next day. And the next.

Your favorite place was a quiet clearing in the woods, where the world felt softer, where time stretched and blurred like a dream. You spent hours there, talking, laughing, sometimes saying nothing at all. You told her about the way the world worked in your eyes—about late-night conversations and music that made your chest ache, about the way rain smelled different in every season. And she listened. Really listened. Like no one ever had before.

But something in her never fully settled, like she was always on the edge of leaving. And one day, she did.

Days passed without her. Then weeks. The clearing felt hollow without her presence, like it had been carved out of you. The ache in your chest grew unbearable until you couldn't take it anymore.

So you went looking for her.

And you found her, not in the woods, but at the very edge of the realm she had abandoned to be near you. She was dressed in something heavier, more regal, her presence different—colder, almost. As if she were trying to become someone else entirely.

"Rio." Your voice wavered, but you stepped forward anyway. She stiffened at the sound of it. "Why did you leave?"

She turned slowly, her expression unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something familiar, something afraid.

She exhaled sharply, looking away. "I lost someone once. Someone I loved. And I will not go through that again."

The words were like ice.

"So instead of taking the risk, you just left?" Your voice cracked, anger and hurt bleeding through. "I thought you cared about me. Why don’t you want me?"