Epilogue

I wrote, once, that beginning was the most difficult part of writing a story.

I was wrong.

It is the end.

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Her hands are steady as she draws the bow across the strings of the cello.

Eyes shut, limbs soft.

Languid and confident, the instrument in her complete and utter control.

She floats.

Every note weaving together to form a new galaxy around her.

Blooming and bursting in atoms of light.

Constellations slipping along her fingers, bending as she dances them across the strings.

"There's always been something ethereal about her playing." A whisper comes from before her.

Her eyes flutter open.

Three silhouettes in the doorway.

Something in her loosens just as it does each time she sees them.

A smile curls along her lips as she grips the bow tighter.

Still up in the sky, the distance between them is measurable in both feet and miles.

A final note swirls in the air, curling around their bodies and pulling them to her.

She can recognize it now, the gravitational force between them.

Like a current of energy, thrumming and tightening as they near her.

Her soul back on earth.

"Is it time?" She asks softly.

Alexander takes the cello from her hands, tucking it safely into its case.

He presses a kiss to her lips, musical fingers drifting along the expanse of her collarbone.

His thumb draws along her skin, tracing up until it met the cool metal of a necklace.

Rubbing fondly at the three golden hearts at the bottom of her throat.

"As much as we'd love to hear you play more, darling, the plane is meant to leave in an hour." Theodore answers, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.

Her hair is long once more, curls brushing against her hips as she stands.

His eyes are warm as he watches her, open and unguarded.

No mask in place and she could see deep, deep into him.

She could see the love for her that radiated all the way from his core.

Dante steps forward, his hand on the small of her back as they leave the grand villa.

Outside, the air is sweet with spring flowers and fresh peaches.

Salt from the nearby ocean cutting through.

Soft music carries on the wind, childish laughter around the cobblestone corner.

Enid pauses for a moment.

"We can always come back anytime you'd like." Dante wraps an arm around her waist.

His exceptionally tanned limb stark against the light cotton of her top.

Sunkissed from many days spent on the seaside.

Swimming and building sandcastles and finding seashells.

Their time there had been perfect.

Her head tilts back against his chest, seeking solace in the forest of his eyes.

"Just me being overly sentimental as usual. Which is silly considering that this is your childhood home, not mine." She grins up at him.

He brushes a kiss along her hairline.

"Ah, amore, my home is wherever you are. And besides, I am so excited to see where you grew up." He punctuates each word with a kiss on her neck.

An hour later, she is watching Italy disappear beneath her from outside the window.

When they had left America, the immortals had promised to show her the world.

They started in France, spending two months in a gorgeous apartment in Montmartre.

Then it had been Germany, Spain, Sweden, Norway, Finland, Egypt.

And then six months in the coastal region of Italy that Dante had been raised in.

Two years of pure, unbridled joy.

It wasn't perfect, as nothing ever truly could be.

There were still many nights where she would wake from nightmares.

Screaming or crying or somewhere in between.

The sticky feeling of blood on her hands and the phantom of pale limbs holding her down.

But they would be there.

Sweet and caring, holding her until she emerged from the dark hold of her memories.

Theodore would talk her down, making sense out of senseless pain.

He would buoy her in the calm waters of his eyes, let her float there until she could breathe again.

And in the days, they would fill her world with so much color.

Taking her to places she had never imagined, feeding her foods she could not pronounce.

Just her and them and a rotating series of monuments and museums and parks.

But now, they were going to Wales.

Enid sinks her teeth into her lip as an unwanted flurry of doubts swims through her mind.

The girl who had left the secluded estate for university had been a broken, naïve shadow of the woman that she was today.

What would it feel like to return?

To return with them by her side.

She doesn't find the answer until she sees Fiona standing at the end of the long driveway.

Tears are already slipping from her eyes as she closes the distance between them, sinking into the arms of the closest person to a mother she'd ever had.

"I missed you, my child." The older woman whispers, tears of her own damp on her face.

Enid isn't sure how long they stand there, gripping each other.

But by the time they make it inside, her men have been shown to her room.

She leans against the doorframe, marveling at the strangeness of these three distinguished men inside her pink-walled childhood bedroom.

They are unpacking her bags, ever the embodiment of care.

Her stuffed panda already sitting on her pillow.

Alexander lets out a loud laugh as he pulls something from one of her drawers.

"Is this what I think it is?" He waves the poster at her, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Enid squints at it and then flushes as she makes out the head of blond hair stark against the dark background.

"No!" She launches herself at him, trying to grab the poster from his hand.

Alexander only laughs harder, holding it above them with one arm while keeping her balanced by wrapping the other around her middle.

"What is it?" Theodore asks, trying to catch a glimpse as Alex waves the folded sheet above his head.

He goes unanswered, he and Dante left to watch in confused amusement as the two wrestle.

Finally, Theodore plucks the poster from his hand and unfolds it.

Within seconds, he and Dante are dissolving into peals of laughter as well.

Enid lets out an embarrassed huff, hiding her dark blush behind her hands.

"Alex, how old are you here? Seventeen? Look at your hair! You look like a baby." Dante cackles, holding the poster up.

A young Alexander Drewitt is smiling up at them, a violin balanced elegantly in his arms.

His name printed along the bottom in an elegant font.

The current Alex shoves Dante in mock-annoyance, taking the poster back from him.

He pulls Enid's hands from her face, squatting down in front of where she was sat on the bed.

A huge beam still stretched across his face.

"I already told you I was a big fan of you when I was younger... and besides, that came with the vinyl record I got of your songs." Enid mumbles sheepishly, sticking her tongue out at him.

Alexander refolds the paper, sticking it in his back pocket.

He chuckles at the lingering flush on her cheeks.

"Angel, don't be embarrassed. I have never been so flattered. Did you have it taped up?" He smirks, the golden flecks in his eyes glinting.

Enid kicks at him playfully, shaking her head.

Luckily, she is saved from further teasing by Fiona calling them down to dinner.

The next few days pass in a flurry of activity.

Each morning they meet Fiona for breakfast, recounting adventures from their travels.

A few days after their arrival, Fiona pulls her aside as they begin to clear the table.

"Your father would have loved them." She whispers, a maternal smile on her timeless face.

Enid has to excuse herself to the bathroom, where she cries and laughs and knows without a doubt that what Fiona has said is true.

They pass the days with books and stories.

She gives them a full tour of her childhood home, pointing out her favorite hiding spots and regaling tales of her youth.

The curtains in the sitting room that were the perfect size for a toddler to hide behind.

A mark in the banister from where she had fallen and lost a few of her baby teeth.

Her music room where she had first learned to play the cello.

She pauses in front of her father's art studio, heart hammering against her ribcage.

Theodore runs a soothing hand down her arm, lacing his fingers with hers.

It is the strength she needs to push open the door.

The air is stale, as she hasn't been in there since he was alive.

Paintings line the walls and floor.

She forgets how to breathe as she stares at the unfinished canvas on the easel in the center of the room.

Everything seeming to fade away as she steps toward it.

The image is nearly finished, the top half only partially unpainted.

But still, it is clear what the painting is of.

Her.

Rosy curls and wide, innocent eyes.

Arms stretching out, reaching for him.

She is young, maybe five or six.

And behind her, millions of stars seems to blink with life.

The milky way sharp with blues and purples, swirling and mixing until it was real.

It is beautiful, a memory and a fantasy immortalized in paint.

Her ribs feel as though they were glued together, lungs unable to expand.

Breath rattling as a soft sob leaves her.

He never painted people.

Claimed that it was too difficult, that he could never capture a person's soul.

But this-

There is an inscription in the corner, just above where he signed his name.

Four words, twelve letters.

Up in the Stars.

This is her and she feels as though she is seeing herself for the first time.

When she turns, they are waiting for her.

In their arms, she cries with the grief of a fatherless child.

They hold her until the world realigns, until she can feel her soul inside her body again.

Always there for her.

Always loving.

The next morning, she rises early.

Just as the sun has begun to awaken, she slips carefully from their bed.

Tucking the covers back over Theodore as she does so.

Dante lets out a soft snore as she slips a robe over her pajamas and silently opens the door.

The grass is damp with dew under her bare feet, a scattering of songs beginning as the birds began to wake.

She follows the familiar path through the woods, running her fingers along the rough bark of the trees.

Sunlight slips between the leaves, a kaleidoscope lighting her path.

Two left turns, a jump over a fallen tree she used to imagine was a bridge for fairies.

A path Enid could follow blindfolded.

And then, there it was.

Trees lining the edges like guards on a boundary.

Wildflowers curling their faces up to the rising sun.

The clearing seems smaller to her now.

It is a physical representation of how she has grown.

Barefoot and bare hearted, she trails to the center of the field.

Her head tilts toward the sky as she watches a small bluebird soar above her.

Sweet chirps of freedom swelling with each flap of its wings.

She turns back to the field as it disappears from view.

There, in the shadow of a tree, wide eyes watch her carefully.

Enid gasps, tears pooling in her eyes as a familiar deer crosses the field toward her.

It is bigger now, no longer a fawn.

But the markings are the same.

Her hand tremors as she raises it to caress the animal's head.

"Hello again." She whispers and the deer's wide eyes seem to sparkle with understanding.

It presses its head more firmly against her hand, nuzzling against her wrist.

There is the sound of movement both from before her and behind.

A wolf emerges from the tree line and fear tightens like strings around her heart.

It is somehow even larger than she remembered.

Dark fur over strong limbs.

A rumble of warning sounds from its throat.

Blood rushes in her ears as the deer takes a step back from her.

With a final glance up at her, the graceful animal turns around.

Walking straight toward the wolf.

She watches in awe as the wolf leans down to nip playfully at the deer's ear.

The sounds from behind her grow louder and a deeper growl leaves the wolf.

With the ease of familiarity, the deer presses its head into the wolf's neck.

Like a touch of reassurance.

Together, the two animals slip back into the forest.

When the immortals reach her side, she knows that she had been wrong all those years ago.

They join her in the middle of the clearing, arms wrapping around her.

Three wolves and a deer.

Yes, she had been wrong.

The wolf hadn't chased after the deer for the hunt.

He had chased the deer away from her because he had perceived Enid as a threat.

It was to protect the deer.

It was love.

Not a predator and its prey.

She turns to look at them.

Her immortals.

The men who would do anything for her.

Who had given her the world.

Enid burrows deeper into their arms.

Three wolves and a deer.

And she understands.

On the other side of the world, a girl reads a letter.

She is sat alone on a bench that once meant so much.

Where she and her friend had chatted, had whispered, and giggled.

The letter in her hands isn't quite as good as the real thing, but there is still a sense that she is there with her.

"Where is she now?" A boy asks, settling onto the bench beside her.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders, a boyish grin on his face.

It had taken her a while to forgive him.

For what he had done to her friend, even if it weren't by choice.

But she loved him.

And her friend had forgiven him long before she did.

And that was enough.

"They're in Wales. But she's coming back for my graduation next month!" She beams, leaning into him.

The door of the literature building near them swings open, laughter floating from the students that are leaving their class.

Even two years later, the building is infamous.

A certain classroom visited by students regularly, attempting to imagine the events that had occurred within.

It is the same with the largest lecture hall in the Psychology building and the auditorium in the music hall.

Every student at Pennington University knew of the immortals.

Knew of the small girl who had changed everything for them.

The story of the four is like an urban legend, knowing it is a rite of passage for those who study there.

It is passed between students, different variations and theories melding into folklore.

Some say they were truly immortal, angels banished to earth for bad behavior.

Others claim they were vampires, awaiting their mate.

Tales exchanged over bottles at parties, in whispers between shelves in the library.

Emilia counts herself as lucky to be one of the few who know the truth.

That they were just men.

And that she was just a girl.

It was their love that was magic.

"How is she?" He asks, just as he does each time she receives a letter.

There is a guilt that still lives inside him.

He will carry it for the rest of his life.

"Happy. She's really happy." She smiles.

For centuries, myths and fables will float throughout the campus about the immortal men who once taught within the school's ancient walls.

Whispers will tell of the way the world seemed to hold still for them.

How they were untouchable, unobtainable.

Until her.

Small and unaware, she had tilted the entire universe on its axis.

The story of her will be woven with intrigue.

But each telling will note her power, the way she fit perfectly with them.

Like she was sent to this earth to love them.

The girl who made them human.

Whispers of their story carried by the wind, slipping down hallways and out into the air.

They will tangle in the leaves of the trees, floating higher and higher.

Into the sky, past the clouds.

Flying up until it finds them.

Up in the stars.

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And then it was done.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or scream or sob.

So I'm going to go do a combination of the three.

Thank you all so much for joining me on the incredible journey that writing this book has been.

I'm not in the right state to thank you all properly now, but I'll be back with an Author's Note in a few days to do so and to talk about future plans.

You all mean the world to me.

Comments fill my heart with joy.

All my love, Sappho ✰