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For all that Luz embodies the sun, Shadowheart’s always seen the moon in her eyes. Even when Shar dominated her every waking moment and Luz’s radiance was an unwelcome eyesore, the moon sang from her eyes. Shadowheart prayed, once, for Luz’s gaze to stop haunting her; she begged Shar for respite from the blinding light of Lathander reflected in Luz’s smile.
And when she broke with her destiny – when the Nightsong flew free – it was Luz’s glow that wrapped her in its embrace when Shadowheart needed a place to heal. The warmth of her that Shadowheart used to rebel against became a sorely needed anchor as she became a person free of the shackles of Shar’s influence.
The cottage where they live now is modest, but it’s home. Shadowheart can’t think of anything she would trade it for. She’s had enough adventure for a lifetime; the bed she and Luz share is warm, and Scratch is curled up behind her knees. Her hair is stark white against their dark linens, and Luz breathes quietly as she sleeps.
Shadowheart often wakes early, and today she’s treated to a glimpse of the moon before the day begins. As it winks out beneath the horizon, she watches through the window as the sky turns from dark blues and purples to yellows and oranges. It’s only a matter of time before Luz wakes up, too, but for now, Shadowheart pushes away a lock of hair that’s fallen into her face. Luz’s eyes don’t open, but when Shadowheart’s fingers brush against her skin, her lips curve upward.
Scratch snores, a huffing sound that Shadowheart would laugh at if it wouldn’t disturb Luz’s sleep. Three months ago, they had tadpoles in their skulls. Six months ago, Shadowheart’s most deeply-sought desire was to become a Dark Justiciar.
Now, she grows tomatoes. She sleeps next to her partner. She knows love.
She knows loss, too. Everyone does. It’s inevitable. But there’s joy, and there’s light, and there’s love.
The sun rises. It peeks above the skyline as if it’s lain its hands on the curve of Toril, pulling itself up through sheer force of will. To hear Luz tell it, that’s a reflection of Lathander: dogged determination in the face of adversity, fighting for dawn even in the blackest night.
When Shadowheart shifts a leg, Scratch bounds off the bend, and he’s a graceless thing. His movement wakes Luz, her eyes heavy-lidded and silver-gray.
Shadowheart will be the first thing she sees every morning for the rest of their lives.
Luz stretches, elbows popping when she does. She rolls over onto her side to face Shadowheart, but Shadowheart doesn’t give her the chance to say anything. She pulls Luz close until their bodies are flush with one another and presses their lips together. Luz chuckles into the kiss, only half awake, and Shadowheart rubs her thumbs over either of her cheekbones.
When she pulls away, Luz smiles, sleep still in her eyes. “Good morning.”
And Shadowheart greets the sun by staring into the moon.
“Good morning.”