When the sun finally crested the horizon, casting a golden light across the bed, Elena reached out for the man who had changed her world forever. Her hand met only the cool, dry sensation of grey dust, the bed beside her empty of the warmth she had come to crave. She sat up, her heart pounding against her ribs, and saw that the beautiful stranger had vanished, leaving behind only a pile of fine, silver ashes where his body had been. The sheets were still damp with the remnants of their passion, but the pale, shivering man was gone as if he had never existed at all. The realization hit her like a physical blow; he had been a creature of the night, a celestial spark that had burned itself out in the fire of their passion. She ran her fingers through the ashes, feeling a faint, lingering warmth that pulsed against her fingertips before fading into the morning air.
The room felt cavernous and silent, the magic of the previous nights evaporating like mist in the harsh light of reality. She looked down at her own body—the thick thighs, the heavy breasts, the generous hips—and saw that she was still glowing with a faint, iridescent sheen. He had consumed himself to give her the one thing she had never found: a love that was as deep and wide as she was. She was alone again, yet she felt a strange, enduring strength, the memory of his touch a permanent mark upon her soul. The ashes were soft, like powdered silk, and as she touched them to her lips, she tasted the salt of her own tears.