She remained asleep. I paused to look at her, curious about how much illusion contributed to her appearance. She was mussed but lovely, with only a tiny mole on her chin. She really was beautiful! That reassured me. She was older than I, probably by five or six years, but Witches were as ageless as they wanted to be. Then she stirred. Her eyes opened. “Hello, beloved,” she said. The mole disappeared. “Hello, beloved,” I echoed, and kissed her. No more was needed. We got up, showered together, and dressed. She served a nice breakfast whose details I hardly noticed, being too absorbed in loving her. Somewhere along the way it occurred to me that she might not really have been asleep. She might have been trying to reassure me about her natural appearance, putting on just enough of a blemish to be persuasive. Did it matter? I realized that it didn’t. She was what she was, and I loved her regardless. How much was natural and how much magical I couldn’t be sure, but I was committed.
