The Softest Touch He glanced over at her. The softest touch of her honey hair on the pillows they had bought together at the market, the slight rise and fall of her chest underneath the coarse wool blanket and the fluttering of her eyelids as she entered the world between dreams and reality. All he could think was that today might be his last day with her, as it were every morning. Every morning she would wake and her eyes would glow slightly more, the magic inside of her battling to escape. He knew she was struggling to confine it, she needn't tell him. Time was quickly ticking away, furious at being ignored for so long. Of course, this story should start at the beginning, not near the end. And so, time will be ignored for a little while longer...