Our Conspiracy of

There’s a boy who’s barely a god that keeps finding dumb excuses to be near a girl who’s a healer of the realms. These immortals find their hearts in the wrong place, which makes a certain one-handed Emperor of the gods very unhappy. (Or: an interpretation of the myth of Vega and Altair, two of the brightest stars in the sky that are separated by the Milky Way Galaxy.)

“I do love him, yes, and it hurts, just the same. This is not a love story, not the one they make fairytales out of and tell children before bed. Ours is a story of almosts, and in the repertoire of stories humankind has accumulated over the span of its existence, no one ever remembers those who almost made it.”