We have woven together countless threads, each one part of the greater tapestry. Yours has always been among the strongest and most resilient. But even the most unyielding thread must one day pass from our hands. From thismoment, the loom rests, and the weaving of your path belongs entirely to you. Trust yourself to carry it forward. And remember: Threads have a curious way of crossing again, when the time is right.
With affection, always,
Constance, Lorraine, and Agnes
It had felt like a gentle farewell. A kind release from centuries of tension. The Immortal Retirement Act, the loophole I’d searched for endlessly…now behind me. Relief had mingled with a strange ache. Like finally setting down a heavy burden my body had grown used to carrying.
As I turn away from city hall, my phone buzzes. I know before looking exactly who it is, and when I answer, Zane’s face appears. His wide, golden-retriever grin framed by the most outrageous ensemble: a purple velvet blazer covered in sequins, absurdly large neon sunglasses, and a party hat perched awkwardly on his head.
“Good lord,” I murmur, biting back a laugh. “Zane, what exactly am I looking at here?”
Zane beams, spreading his arms dramatically. “Well, hello to you too, brother! Today’s our annual ‘Mayoral Extravaganza.’ Obviously, I had to make a fashion statement.”
“And the sunglasses?”
“Essential for my authoritative aura,” he says solemnly, tipping the glasses slightly so I get a screenful of his baby blues. “Leadership demands a certain level of…style.”
“Clearly.”
Zane’s expression softens, his smile reaching his eyes. “On a serious note though, when are you and Levi coming to visit? You promised.”
“We did,” I concede. “And we will. Levi insists he needs to witness your absurd charm firsthand again.”
That causes Zane to laugh. “Ouch. I preferunconventional charisma, but I’ll allow it because Levi understands quality humor. IknewI liked him better.”
“Most people do.”
Before Zane can respond, someone seemingly enters the room just out of frame, because his attention is turned elsewhere as a series of muffled updates are fired his way. The only words I catch aredonkeyandfloat. I immediately have questions but decide against asking.
“Ah, duty calls,” he says, flashing an apologetic grin as he adjusts his ridiculous sunglasses again. “But I’m holding you to that visit. I promise to embarrass you both publicly when you’re on my turf.”
“I’m counting on it,” I reply, feeling an unexpected warmth fill my chest as the call ends.
I continue toward home with one last glance at city hall, reflecting on everything that brought me here. Levi was right all along, it turns out. There’s beauty in the messy uncertainty of mortal life. And now, finally stepping into that uncertainty, embracing these connections and the joy they bring, I realize I wouldn’t trade this life for anything in the world.
• • •
Sunday dinners atmy apartment began quietly.
A small tradition that sprouted from nowhere in particular but quickly grew roots, weaving its way into our lives as something irreplaceable. Now, my home is regularly filled with warmth, laughter, and far more people than I’d have ever imagined.
Tonight, Dominic and Elijah lounge casually on the couch, affectionally bickering over some trivial disagreement from earlier inthe week. Nearby, Tripp leans comfortably against the wall, tossing playful commentary into their conversation, like throwing gasoline on a growing fire. Meanwhile, Naomi sits cross-legged on the floor, deep in conversation with Irene from across the room.
Even Seby seems to have embraced this new social routine, stretched luxuriously across Dominic’s lap, soaking up attention in a manner that’s dangerously inflating his already oversized feline ego. I shake my head slightly, making a mental note to remind him later that he was once a proud introvert like me. But the gentle contentment in his eyes makes it clear he won’t care.
Porter and Zane even drop by sporadically. Never predictable, but always welcome. Porter arrives carrying the faint scent of salt water, settling comfortably into his usual spot, long legs stretched out, a playful gleam beneath his reserved exterior as if he’s cataloging details of everyone’s antics to tease them with later. Zane, as always, fills every inch of space with animated storytelling of his latest mayoral escapades, complete with dramatic gestures, infectious laughter, and occasional apologies whenever an enthusiasticzapaccidentally shocks an unsuspecting guest’s shoulder.
Even Levi’s parents make an appearance more often than we might have expected. In fact, they’ve thoughtfully scheduled one of their birding excursions around our Sunday dinner, bringing dessert, binoculars, and an endless curiosity that warms the atmosphere in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Seeing them all here, so comfortably settled in my space, stirs a quiet acknowledgment that Levi’s world and mine have intertwined seamlessly.
My shadows, while mostly kept at bay by this newfound sense of ease, still flit restlessly in the corners, protective yet curious. Occasionally, I notice Elijah’s eyes flicker in their general direction, eyebrows pinched with puzzlement, as if he’s glimpsed something he can’t quite place. Someday, Levi and I might need to share certain truths with our friends, but tonight isn’t for revelations.
I watch Levi move across the room, laughter brightening his eyes, and realize with certainty that I’ve never felt more fully, beautifully mortal, or happier, in my life. He’s moving easily between conversations, refilling glasses, checking on dishes. At some point, without realizing it, I’ve stopped seeing Levi as a guest here. He’s settled himself completely into my space, just as comfortably as the absurd number of plants he continues to bring. Another stubborn ficus, a delicate fern, a trailing ivy plant he’s affectionately named Herbert.
It started innocently enough. A small succulent, barely bigger than my palm. Levi appeared at my door one random Tuesday, thrusting the tiny plant toward me, mumbling something about my apartment’s offensively bleak aesthetic. I accepted it, more confused than anything, placing it on the kitchen island and promptly forgetting about it.
But soon, others followed. A pothos trailed elegantly from my bookshelf, a spider plant carefully set on my bathroom counter, a monstera arriving offensively early on a Sunday morning, its large leaves rustling triumphantly in Levi’s proud grasp.
At first, I questioned him, gently teasing about his apparent campaign to turn my apartment into a jungle. But as the weeks slipped by, questioning became pointless. Levi would simply smile, completely unapologetic, already scanning my space for the next spot to fill. I don’t remember when exactly I stopped resisting, but it just became easier to rearrange my furniture, shift stacks of books, and learn how to carefully water and prune plants I had no previous interest in caring for. My apartment now resembles something of a small botanical garden, but oddly enough, I don’t hate it.
