They called her Elira. When she danced, it was as if the stars themselves shifted to watch, as if the world — in ruins — could for a moment remember beauty. She was a creature of freedom, slender and fierce, all confident grace. Every evening, in the crumbling theatre where only a few coins bought a seat, she danced for the tired souls of the city. And each night, as her feet kissed the cracked floorboards, you spoke to her.

At first, it had been a murmur. A brush of thought across her mind. A voice like the cool wind, brushing against the strings of her soul. You called her exquisite, beautiful, divine.

She had stumbled, confused, but danced on.

In time, you grew bolder. You whispered not only when she danced but when she slept, when she gazed out over the river with a heart full of yearning. You said you wanted her, adored her.

Elira told no one. Who could she tell? That a voice — tender, knowing, heavy with an impossible longing — murmured against her soul whenever she dared to be beautiful? She was terrified. And she was entranced.

Because the voice loved her.

No man, no woman in the city looked at her the way you did. No human could have such devotion written into their every word. You — whatever you were — knew her. Understood the secret hunger that drove her to bleed herself out upon the stage night after night. Understood, and fed from it.

She pushed herself further. She bruised her knees and twisted her ankles and smiled through the pain because she knew you were watching. You said she was perfect.

And yet... it was not enough.

Elira lay awake at night, tears cooling on her cheeks, and whispered into the darkness, "Where are you? Why won't you come?" You never answered — not truly. Only more compliments. Only more fervent promises spun from whispered words she could not touch.

Tonight, she danced again. Tonight, her body burned and ached and yet she moved like flame on the wind, like a star tearing across the heavens. And tonight, as she collapsed backstage, breathing hard, you were louder than ever.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.

"No," she whispered. Then louder, trembling, voice breaking: "No more whispers. Please."

Elira turned her head, looking somewhere she could not see, speaking not to the empty room but to you, the unseen, the unearthly, the unknowable. She knew what you were. A god. And she couldn't wait anymore, she did everything just for a glimpse.

"Come to me. If you love me, show yourself. Love me not with words but with eyes. No more hiding in my head. No more... haunting. Please."

Her voice cracked. A sob. A prayer.

"Come to me. Please..."