Celestin

He stood there, aware of the time, but unconcerned with it. The lamp in the study was dark. “Celestin? Allons-y,” came a voice behind him and to the left. “Pas encore,” he whispered. “I cannot feel her. I expected some trace to remain.” “Celestin …,” she said again, moved but worried. “So many years of seeing the light come on - of knowing where to find her,” he sighed, “and now it is as if she never was.” “Mon cheri, you always do this,” she chided gently, squeezing his arm as she took hold of it. “Mortals … yes? What else could be?” He patted her hand, watching the dark study, claiming it, letting the memories etch themselves into his bones. “Very well,” he said after a few moments, “we’ll go. But … a favor.” “Tout ce que tu veux - anything,” she replied, leaning her head against him. “Je suis désolé. I really am so sorry, Celestin.” “Just for today, please call me by the name I gave her - my childhood name. You must call me ‘Louis’ for today.” She very carefully wiped a blood tear from his cheek. “Louis, allons-y,” she whispered. “We must go; it is almost dawn.”