It was his idea.
Which was unusual in itself—he seldom proposed anything silly, much less a "date." But that night, as the sun set below the wooded ridge, its golden-pink glow bathing the cottage fields, he presented Charlotte with his hand and a gentle, boyish smile and said:
"Come away with me. Just tonight."
They didn't travel far. Just beyond the ancient hills, beyond the stream where wild mint sprouted and the scent was full of stories yet to be told.
There, they spread a blanket under the twilights, fireflies flashing in and out like shy stars, and ate clumsily packed bread, cheese, and sugared berries.
Charlotte, dressed in a dress too frivolous for decency but ideal for trouble, sat barefoot on the blanket and attempted to recall how to be free.
Elias, regarding her with that inscrutable, simmering gaze of his, at last asked, "What would you do. if you weren't afraid of losing it all again?"
She gazed at him.
Then leaned forward.
"Kiss you," she whispered.
His breath caught.
She did not wait.
Later—tangled, breathless, giggling like first-lovers children—they walked home hand in hand, both mussed in a disarmingly guilty fashion.
Charlotte's cheeks were rosy. Elias's collar was askew. Neither of them said a word, but the air that hung between them glowed with heat and secrets.
They topped the last hill and saw the lights of the cottage.
And then—stood stock-still.
There was a little girl in the garden.
She was barefoot, hair disheveled, gazing into space. Her irises were murky. She couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old.
Standing beside her was Finn, rigid and traumatized, eyes huge as if he'd had a glimpse of a specter.
"Mira?" he murmured.
The girl cocked her head, mouth opening.
"I know your voice," she spoke softly. "Although I haven't heard it yet."
Charlotte edged forward cautiously, her heart racing.
"Who are you?" she asked softly.
The child swung her face to hers—though her eyes did not see.
"I don't know yet," she replied, voice like air through an ancient door. "But I recall music. And signs. And one who used to braid my hair even when I could not talk."
Elias knelt down, attempting to come level with her sightless eyes. "Do you recall your name?"
The girl paused.
Then, hardly above a whisper, she said: "Not yet. But someone called me Mira. And I think. I was hers."
Charlotte's world whirled.
Mira. Reborn? Remitted? Following her?
Finn moved forward and knelt beside the girl, grasping her hand as if it were precious.
"I knew you'd return," he whispered.