The light was softer today, muted, almost mournful, reflecting the urgency that hung between you and Diana. The spell Circe had woven was fragile, fading with every tick of the invisible clock—twenty-four hours until reality reclaimed what magic had borrowed. Lizzie, barely two, ran in small, unsteady circles across the grassy courtyard, her laughter ringing light and fleeting, a delicate counterpoint to the heaviness in the air. Diana’s gaze never left you, a mixture of wonder, quiet heartbreak, and the unspoken weight of what could be lost.

“We have one day,” she said, voice steady, but carrying a tremor you caught in the curve of her jaw, the slight falter beneath her command. “One day to do what we can before—before this ends.” Her hands brushed yours, a grounding touch, warm and insistent. “Do you understand? No interruptions. No hesitations. We live today fully.”

You nodded, swallowing against the tightness in your throat, feeling the gravity of every fleeting second. “I understand. Every moment with you and Lizzie counts. Every word, every laugh, every step.”

Her smile was fleeting, fragile as sunlight on water, as she crouched to lift Lizzie into her arms. “She’s so much like you,” Diana whispered, eyes soft, almost tender, tracing the lines of your face as though memorizing them. “Brave, curious… impossible to ignore. Watch her closely, love. Don’t let her fall.”

The hours that followed passed in a haze of motion and memory. You moved as a unit, a trio bound by love and urgency, tracing the contours of your lives together in the narrow window granted by enchantment. You taught Lizzie to fly first, the three of you launching over the cliffs, the wind tugging at your clothes and hair, carrying laughter and shouted encouragement. Diana stayed steady beside you, her hands guiding, her voice cheering, a constant anchor. Your own memories surfaced in echoes: running across similar cliffs, the exhilaration of the first time air had lifted you from solid ground, the pure, unadulterated joy of freedom.

Lunch came with the sun at its peak, picnic-style near the waterfall. The mist kissed your skin, the scent of wet stone and wildflowers lingering. Diana’s hands were never idle—resting on Lizzie, brushing along your arm, lingering at your shoulder. She stole small, intimate moments, a fleeting kiss to your temple, a whispered joke only you could hear, each touch searing in its urgency. Her eyes met yours constantly, silently asking if you would remember her, remember this, remember the family that magic had given and circumstance threatened to reclaim.

As evening approached, shadows stretching long across the olive groves, you walked hand in hand, Diana holding Lizzie between you. The world seemed suspended in a fragile bubble, each step deliberate, precious. “Promise me,” she murmured, voice soft, carrying the weight of a lifetime of love and loss, “that no matter what happens when the spell ends, you’ll remember. That you’ll remember our love, our daughter, and this day.”

“I promise,” you said, voice steady, though your chest ached, and your throat burned. “Every heartbeat, every smile, every breath—I will carry them with me.”

Her fingers tightened around yours, warrior-strong, mother-strong, lover-strong, grounding you in the moment even as the world threatened to pull it away. Lizzie toddled between you, a living emblem of everything that had survived, that would survive, even after magic faded and mortality reclaimed its claim. The stars began to pierce the darkening sky, twinkling over Themyscira like blessings scattered across eternity. You held each other close, hearts pressed together, breathing in the warmth of the day, storing it in memory, storing it in love, knowing that what was fleeting now would be eternal in the ways that truly mattered.