Cerulean Cape levitation

<3!!!

lestan mayfair listened.
the flower world.
the healers.
the pain.
the tears.
the running; the weeping; the agonies; the endlessness of wandering; the love which thrummed in artery and vein and heart and mind.
his eyes had gone first wide to hear, then moistened, then now ran wet with something he had comprehended during the telling of her impossible story — not impossible for him. never for him, and he believed it all, every word! how could he not, how could he not when all reverie had been to him was the most ethereal and purest manifestation of his truest ardent marrow-deep love.
and they had known one another always, and now he wept, half-covering his face but not pulling from her, filled with the desperation of —
knowing.
saltwater ran in rivulets of bittersweetness along his dark face. "riordan asked me if you were getting s-sicker. i said yes."
and that lestan had meant to take her to a healer, a mortal healer, but now that — what flora of this world could work upon magicka of another? "reverie, if you — if you stay, will you get — will your illness worsen?"
because he adored her beyond measure and yet he could not ever ask her to stay in a place not made for her very spirit if she were to lose it in determination to remain. "i love you." paramount, confounded, shivering, "i choose you also. i want you also, but reverie — if you k-keep bleeding you will die. and i can't — i won't —"
was it a greater agony to lose her mortal self than to know she would still live away from him? lestan felt surely it must be.