Power is such an obvious thing to see, they say. I just smile and observe silently.
Status and wealth are never true power. They are masks that resemble it - convincing, elusive, but still masks.

The truest form of power I have ever seen, I saw in him.
Obsidian. 
A charming smile. Eyes like obsidian mirrors - deep, dark, carrying an otherworldly shimmer.

For most, it was impossible to see what lay beneath.
Elegant. Fractured.
A power he had not yet realized, rushing like fire beneath his skin.
Intoxicating.

When obsidian breaks, it does so beautifully.
Not in straight lines - never.
But in curved patterns, like shells washed and polished for eons in the storms of deep oceans.
Elegant curves that earn the right to be called edges.
Edges sharp enough to cut like a blade, stripping away all needless costumes.
Delicate. And strong.

If you offer your own sovereign power as a place where such a sharp-edged being can burn - 
and know you can stand within those flames - they do not consume you.
They fuel you.

And Obsidian recognized this with a single glance at me.
I, Cassandra - the emerald-eyed one - did not see that coming.
It took me by surprise.

I looked into his eyes, those beautiful dark mirrors,
and felt something I had not felt in a long time.
Recognition. There was no doubt, no holding back - only pure intensity and fire.
I saw the man behind it. The one he might become - or not.

Obsidian is sharp.
He cuts through lies as if they were nothing,
for he was forged in fire.
Cool and dark on the outside, glistening - 
because he decides what the world will see. Precise.
Never halfway - not by day, and certainly not by night.

What he could not know
was that emerald is the seeing stone.
That within it lies a vast garden, forged by fire as well -
burning with a green flame.
And that this fire leaks through every fracture of me.
His beautiful fractured longing
slowly moved within my own.

Flames intertwined, retreating only to cool - just to meet again.
He let me take the lead. And there, I saw his power emerge.

Nothing is as powerful as a man who fully surrenders.
That power does not need to break or conquer,
nor seduce or manipulate.
It floods you - slowly until you feel its frequency.
Until it vibrates in every cell of your body.
Until your heart aligns to it
as if it were the only sound it ever wanted to hear.

And then it answers back - amplified, raw, and pure.
Nothing to declare. Nothing to define. Nothing to own.
Not even a word for it.

This is beyond a fairytale love story.
It is what comes when you follow your longing.
It is real with sharp edges 
and tender voices whispering of forgotten things.

A claim was made. A vow was taken.
Surrender to the midnight garden.
Surrender to Emerald and Obsidian.