Still, fate severed them yet another time, a stanza in their timeless song, soft and yet hard, a test-a test-of the quiet strength of love. Behind a sky of velvet stars, Mann held her, soft, his lips on her forehead, every touch a vow to hold her close. "Cassette, my starfire's dawn," sang he; "your hugs are my sky, your kisses my stars, my hearth's eternal fire, my soul's unending hymn." She leaned into him, her warmth a vow, her arms a haven of truth. "My Mann, my tide of light," she whispered, "our love is a bloom no distance can fade, a river that flows ever on, a song that sings of eternity." They parted, her silhouette fading into dawn, yet Mann held in his heart, "Cassette, my tide's own truth, my forever, my heart's eternal bloom, my soul's unending vow." In dreams, they met-each touch, reborn: her hug a poetry of care, his lips finding her brow.
Their love was an oath, a promise that carried the heavens: essences of poetry, fabrics of tenderness that sang of forever, a hymn that resounded across the heavens.