They stand on the edge of forever, looking into the future and the past, remembering them as one.

One is a woman, attired in starlight, and death's shadow. The other is a man, robed in scarlet and the blood of lives long past.

The wind that cannot exist save at the edge of forever swirls around them, smoothing rough emotions and harsh words. At the end of the mobius strip they stand side by side.

Finally the man (at least, that's how he thinks of himself) reaches out and takes her hand. The woman (an equally useless phrase to describe her, though she is more of flesh and blood than he) resists at first, then allows the contact.

Time that no longer possesses any meaning holds them motionless for more moments.

Finally, through there has been no waiting, the man speaks. "Shall we meet again?"

The woman turns and studies him. Not his exterior appearance – tall, lean, dark-haired, and possessed of a face that shows a past collusion with arrogance – but his eyes, in which she can see all the regrets, pain, and fury that what had happened must be so again. Smiling slightly, she indicates the stars that are ending their beginning (and beginning their ending) and murmurs, "Was there ever a doubt?"

His eyes flash in long dormant anger, then soften as she brings her other hand to brush his cheek. He releases his grip to place it on that hand, breathing in her aura and beauty. "Must it be as it was?"

Her eyes, glorious in the illumination that exists before photons, sadden. "Would love have come any other way?" His silence answers. She sighs, unaccustomed to the weight of emotions. As she glances away, she feels his arms rise to take her into his embrace.

"We could change everything, you and I," he suggests, hope flickering deep in his eyes. "We could…"

"No." Her command stills him. "We shall love, and begin again."

Time rushes to meet them, carrying upon it a desire for revenge at their daring to avoid it for so long. Needing no words, their lips and minds meet, and love binds their beings together for one endless moment.

Then time, proud to the last, surrenders.