This is the story of a one-sided love.

I will begin thus: The King of the kingdom was a fool.

He was a remarkable young man in his prime. He had accomplished much in his youth, a crown prince with no equal. Even we spirit summons, summoned often to the human realms by the royal court magicians, knew of he who could be our master. We feasted on the offerings, contemplated the visions in the mirror that connected to the outer realms, and indulged by whim the occasional request for prophecy and prediction.

I thought he was wonderful, the first time I laid eyes on him. He had chosen me, and I thought, without a doubt, when I pledged my allegiance, it would be fine. I thought because I was chosen out of all my comrades to make a pact with him, it meant I was special.

And I was.

He would spend long hours with me, you know. I was his consultant as I was his friend. I vanquished his enemies, protected his allies. I was his power incarnate, never threat, never temptation, and I thrived in all my nonhumanity.

And yet, he fell for someone whose affections he would never obtain.

In another lifetime, had this woman been my master instead, perhaps I would have sympathized. But my master had been foolish, the way countless men have been in history. No doubt he knew what she wanted of him. He was not stupid, never stupid.

But foolish? Yes....yes, he was.

I run my fingers through his hair, softly.

"Please," he begs me. Whispers.

It is a sad image. I, seated on this forest throne of woven branches, and the man at my feet.

"I'll grant you your wish," I say to my former, my current, "my king."

This is the story of a one-sided love. It has been years since I have seen him. Years since he has broken our pact, and I returned to my own world. Years after he recalled me, and we made a pact anew. And years now he is dead, and he is mine. Time in this spirit world passes quickly; and, for a dead soul, he still remains beautiful.

I think about that woman often. For she and I are not so much different. Our cunning to get what we want, our--in another time and place, I would have wanted her to be my master. It is clear she has treated him to mould him into the way she wanted him. She would have made good use of my talents. Even better.

She would have completed what I lack, and it is both a shame and unfortunate that I have only her husband alone.

The king sobs beneath me. What an ugly picture, I think, and soothe him. He gives all himself. His soul shines so brilliantly. In spite of everything, it is a worthy treasure.

Even knowing she loved him not, that she was using him--for there really is no greater benefit than being the cherished spouse of royalty--the King was always anxious that she would leave him.

After she died, he followed soon after, as if his life was hers in death as it had been in life.

At least, that is the official story.

He leans up into my touch. If any of his former subjects were to see this man, once a powerful figure on the battle field, the commander of their forces, the strength of their country, they would be aghast.

"Please," he commands me.

"You no longer hold my contract." And yet, still I sweep his hair with my fingers, still I let him kiss me. And I kiss him back. He kisses as if he were drowning. He kisses as if he wishes I were her or that he could reach her though me if only he were obedient enough.

For all that I hold this form--so similar to hers, but not quite--for his sake, perhaps it is easy for him to pretend.

I should not indulge this, but alas.

This is the story of a one-sided love.

Let me tell you this story from our reunion, for I much liked it better then.