“Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.” 

Emily Dickinson. (1864)

She left him sleeping.

Framed as it was in the first rays of dawn that dared venture past the gossamer sweep of the curtains that gently billowed with the freshening morning breeze, the face of Rhovan di Acosto in repose was reminiscent of a sculptors classicist – typical rendition of Man.

In sleep his face looked slightly innocent and boyish when devoid of animation.

Taesin lay propped up on the pillow next to him on one pale elbow marveling at how, when we sleep, our true faces are presented to the world. A secret honesty that is only realized if we are fortunate to have another to share that moment of pristine intimacy with.

Rhovan’s magnificent mop of darkly curled hair had fallen over one of his eyes, as his broad chest rose and fell metronomically in the rhythm of sleep. It draped across the arc one of his impressive cheekbones and nearly reached the strong line of his jaw.

Gently she reach out with one slim finger and teased the tendril of hair back away from his forehead and returned it to its compatriots, this left her better able to observe and appreciate the sweep of his long, dark eyelashes that mantled his closed eyes. Eyelashes any woman would give her right arm for, they were just as he – perfectly proportioned and in keeping with his overall good looks.

He stirred slightly at this intrusion, but did not wake. The hour was early and , in truth, they had not succumbed to the allure of sleep until not so long ago. Rhovan di Acosto muttered something incomprehensible from wherever he voyaged in sleep and a small smile formed on those glorious lips of his, so Taesin knew that, wherever he was, it seemed a good place.

The young El – Aurian sighed wistfully and rolled off her elbow and onto her back , drawing a slim hand through her own tangle of platinum – white hair as she rearranged her mane upon her own pillow and stared at the beautiful plaster fresco that adorned the ceiling of her apartments in the ‘D’hôtel Apparat’.

Her mind went back to the previous day and the pure, unequivocable feeling of Love that overcame her as she sat with the man, who now slumbered so peacefully at her side, at the sumptuous picnic beside the breathtaking power of the Cascade Falls.

The cynical part of her would argue that the Juxtaposition of the power of the falls was a conscious choice for a man born to wealth and power, but that would be to rob the moment of its purity and was, besides, hardly relevant.

Despite her best intentions, Taesin Girau had found herself falling in love with this impossibly charming gentleman – philosopher and the fact that he was effectively a scion of the rich and influential in the Colludia system mattered to her not one bit.

Rhovan di Acosto was the perfect companion. Courteous, with the sort of impeccable but unfussy manners that only the very – wealthy can afford, he was the perfect gentleman.

Attentive, funny and slightly self – depreciating in his humor, he spoke beautifully with a keen intelligence and was passionate about several subjects, yet had that rare gift of really being able to listen when she spoke, without doing that thing where someone is already planning their next response whilst you talked.

The afternoon drew on at their well – appointed picnic site by the side of the thunderous majesty of the Falls and they laughed and spoke of many things like two people that had known each other for years, instead of two strangers that had met by accident just the day before.

That casual intimacy, which was so hard to manufacture, came naturally to them both and it was with some surprise that Taesin realized that much of the afternoon had came and went and only became aware of this fact when the sun began to fall behind the distant mountain ranges to the far south, rendering a mute, deep, dark ochre against the burning fall of the sky.

She had started to pack up the remains of their picnic, but Rhovan assured her that this would be taken care of (she imagined in her mind’s eye that he had some secret cadre of unobtrusive and ghostlike retainers, like Edvard Grieg’s literary – drudges that would issue forth from hidden tunnels in the rock like the Halls of the Mountain King and she had to laugh at the fanciful image), and he took her hand in his and they went to the funicular – station and rode the last car down.

Above them the eponymous summit of Omaja Peak predominated the darkening sky and far below them the glittering lights around the shore of Lake Omaja were starting to come alive as the picturesque mountain resort became vitalised like some glittering essential jewel encircling the dark, placid waters.

When they alighted, he sent the waiting ground – car and its driver away and suggested that they walk a little. Overhead the first stars were just beginning to cautiously intrude into the gloaming skies and it was a warm night, so she deemed her outfit sufficient for the task and gave her gentle assent, choosing to follow his lead.

Together, her slim hand in his strong one, they walked and chatted about this and that as they made their way down the narrow streets that led them a winding path back down to the waterfront.

The becoming night was busy with the life and activities of both the towns own inhabitants and that of the visiting tourists, although the two groups were easy to discern from each other and Taesin was glad to be in the company of a local, enjoying that inferred connection with the locals that it brought.

Rhovan was well known and well liked, so as the tourists thronged on like some mindless herd compelled by their sightseeing, they were stopped and stopped off several times to engage in short, animated conversations or warm entreaties to join several groups gathered at streetside cafés, which they duly did.

Her companion explained that this day marked a local custom of sorts. A tradition that stemmed back generations to mark the end of the season and welcome the next and that the tourists were likely flocking down to the lakeside to witness and participate in the annual Lantern Festival.

There, he explained, it was customary for the people of the town to write upon a small piece of paper their innermost hopes and dreams for the future at coming turn of the seasons, and attach that secret missive to a fragile paper lantern, heated by a small candle and then launch it with thousands of others high into the night’s sky, casting their dreams across the firmament.

He spoke with the Maître – de of an expensive looking waterside restaurant and somehow managed to conjure up a table for two that overlooked the night – dark expanse of the lake.

She was surprised to find that she was hungry again and together they ordered and somehow quickly devoured a whole freshwater fish, that had been simply grilled on the open range that predominated the open – plan kitchen in the centre of the establishment and was simply finished with lemon and oil with a verdant side salad and another bottle of the delicious, amber wine that the region was justly famous for.

Taesin was entranced by Rhovan’s deep, dark brown eyes, the sonorous liquid quality of his voice and the easy animus of his broad smile and time itself raced onwards.

Presently the time came for the lighting of the lanterns and together they excused themselves and thanked the restaurant’s owner profusely for his hospitality and politely declined the generous offer for a digestif to take down with them to the water’s edge.

Joining the other revelers at the waterline, the night alive with the tang of woodsmoke and the lively hubbub of many voices joined in frivolity, they elected to share a lantern – each of them writing their own note in cupped and guarded hands and agreeing not to share its contents with each other, lest their dreams did not come true.

She permitted him to wrap his strong arms around her slim waist, as the evening was taking on the unmistakable chill that heralded the departure of Summer and the first fresh night of Fall and she lay her head back upon his broad chest as, together, they watched their hopes rise slowly into the night, one fragile glowing lantern amongst the many that turned the sky into a bobbing profusion of beauty.

Entwined, their secrets carried away unknown.

That night they retired to her rooms at the ‘D’hôtel Apparat’ and they made love.

It was an intentional decision on her part, not some girlish whim brought about by the undeniably powerful allure of a full and fulfilling day.

For his part, Rhovan was an excellent lover. Gentle and attentive to her needs, he made love not like an apology, but also devoid of machismo and selfishness. As she lay locked in his arms, drenched a sheen of sweat in their post – coital exertions, Taesin found a sense of contentment that she knew that she had avoided for so very long, ever since Galen’s death and for the first time in many decades, she did not feel the habitual guilt of thinking about him, here in the embrace of a new lover.

She also knew that that love could not last.

Lying there in the bliss of the morning with a new lover, Taesin sighed heavily and resolved to do what she knew she must do.

Carefully, moving so she would not wake Rhovan, she slid from beneath the bed sheet and placed her bare feet upon the luxurious pile of the hotel carpet. Her face was a mask of both sadness and resolve as she drew herself to standing, feeling very much like she had just left a little part of herself behind as she did so. Something important.

She had elected not to explain the longevity that her species ‘enjoyed’ to Rhovan in her previous conversations; she had not wanted that inevitable and inconvenient truth mar the perfect beauty of the short time they had together and so had contrived never to bring the subject up.

This practiced and necessary dishonesty hurt her almost as much as she was sure that her leaving without explanation would do for him, but long and painful experience had taught her that it was better this way. She would always remain an enigma to him, even if it was one that was associated with the pain of a lover lost and for her part she would be able to picture him as he was, a perfect memory of her perfect man and perfect day, frozen in time and held in her memory for eternity.

She could not go through what she had done with Galen, to Galen a second time. To stay by another beloved’s side and watch the slow enemy of time transform the youth and vitality of a soulmate into decrepitude and ultimately have to relinquish their beautiful soul to uncaring death.

Her heart could simply not take it.

So, she dressed in her Starfleet Uniform. Taking the familiar garb that spoke of larger responsibilities to both herself and the wider galaxy and tried to convince herself that theirs was a love fated not to be. There were tears in her eyes as she fixed her rank pips to the dark material of the neck of her uniform blouse.

She did not need to pack, glad that she did not have to draw the pain of leaving like a thief in the night out any longer than necessary. Of the clothing and toiletries, she had purchased during her vacation, she had no need. Once she was back in the Federation, she could easily replicate facsimiles of any of these items, should she so choose.

To a Federation citizen money truly was no object, rather than an abstract concept. Let the chambermaids that would come to clean her vacated rooms enjoy the bounties of her holiday, they were more than welcome to them.

She crossed to the terminal, where her dissertation on “Quantum telepathy and the analysis of particle presence” resided, mostly completed apart from her final summary and some workmanlike editorials.

She paused and looked at the academic paper that had caused her some much consternation and they allowed herself a guilty, final backward glanced over her shoulder to the beautiful muse asleep in her bed, that had proved the heaven – sent inspiration to break her indomitable writers – block.

Her expression spoke of eternal regret.

She returned her attention to the screen and carefully uploaded it to the waiting Danube – class Runabout, USS Tamar, which was waiting in orbit to take her away from her holiday sojourn and return her to activity duty aboard its parent vessel, the Noble – class explorer, USS Atalanta.

When she was sure that the precious dissertation had sent, she carefully erased it from the hotel terminal and closed the device down, which reverted back to the ostentatious holding – screen logo of the ‘D’hôtel Apparat’ and she looked wistfully around the sumptuously – appointed rooms that had been her temporary home for the last few days.

Knowing that to draw the moment out would benefit no one, she took up the box that held the fragile gift of the ‘kintsugi’ – restored delicate glass vase and held it to her chest. It would remain her keepsake and memento of Rhovan for as long as she held it (resolving in that moment to find her mother another gift) and thought of the words he spoke yesterday and how effectively he had pierced her heart.

“Something unbidden during our meeting told me that you are ‘kintsugi’, that the sum total of your beauty is the result of being broken and carefully put back together many times.”

He would never know how right he was.

Brushing aside an angry tear and irked with herself for being such a coward, she held back her hair with one hand and leaned forward to kiss that magnificent brow, one last final time.

Rhovan di Acosto stirred deliciously in bed again and she felt her fragile heart break all over again, just like the damaged vase she clutched to her chest.

She tried to focus on the latter part of that same sentence he had uttered to her at the falls yesterday and of the hope it held for her.

“I wanted to show you that, whilst what is unique cannot be replaced, that the things that damage us can be transformed into something infinitely more beautiful, like you.”

She did not feel beautiful inside. She felt every single one of her two hundred years like a sentence and a curse at that moment. Straightening from the lingering kiss, she tapped her Commbadge lightly and spoke in a husky voice, full of regret.

“Girau to USS Tamar. One to Beam up.”

The solitary woman was enveloped in a dreamy miasma of golden light as she was forever whisked away from the side of her sleeping lover who slumbered on, unaware that he was alone, as the wind gently rustled the curtains and the cheerful noises from the street below heralded yet another beautiful day in Omaja Peak.

FIN