There are loves so powerful that even the heavens take notice. Loves that do not bow to time nor yield to death. These kinds of bonds stretch across lifetimes, woven into the very fabric of existence. Some say such love is rare, but for Christopher and Catherine it is destiny.

The wind howled across the English moorland, whispering secrets to the night. The sky, cloaked in a velvet shroud of midnight blue, shimmered with stars that blinked like ancient watchers bearing witness to a story that had played out many times before. In the distance, the crumbling silhouette of an old stone abbey stood as a lone sentinel, silent and stoic, as if it, too, remembered the tragedy that had unfolded there centuries ago.

Inside, within the cold embrace of the abbey’s ruins, the world had narrowed to a single breath, a single touch, a final goodbye.

Catherine lay cradled in Christopher’s arms, her pale face streaked with blood and starlight. Her once vibrant eyes, the color of summer skies, were beginning to dim, but her gaze remained fixed on him anchored to him as if her soul refused to let go.

Christopher trembled. His hands, covered in soot and blood, clutched her desperately, trying to stop time with sheer will. His voice was hoarse with grief, his words broken and scattered like glass on stone.