sittingoverheredreaming:
Oh man I ruined my own morning thinking about how if Mako ended up with someone outside the senshi, she’d have to watch them grow old and pass on while she stayed the same, IF they could even make it work in the circumstances, and how devastating that would be to her.
She looked so lucky to them, the first ten years or so. His parents told her she hasn’t aged a day every time they saw her; sisters commented how easily she “got her body back” after having their child. No wrinkles, no gray hair, she was what all the women in his life wished they could be.
When she told him, he joked it was a man’s dream, too. A wife that stayed as young and beautiful as the moment you met her. What wasn’t to love?
But he grew old, bald, paunchy, his eyes began to follow the grace of older women when they went out. He touched her less and less, shrinking away from even holding her smooth unwrinkled hands.
“I don’t think you should see my family anymore,” he said one day. “They’ll start asking questions.”
“We can answer them.”
“I don’t think we can.”
She stayed home while he made excuses for her and begged the mirror to show even one wrinkle, crows feet at her eyes or lines to the side of her mouth, anything to make her worthy again. But she looked just the same as she had at twenty two, no matter the decades that had passed.
He went alone even to their child’s graduation, too afraid that people would see how close in age his wife and daughter appeared. She watched the video he took later and didn’t let him see her cry. The end was coming, she knew. She had a thousand years left before her, and her family could not be with her.
He delivered the news the day their daughter moved out for college.
“I think— well, I know. I know I can’t do this. I thought… but I feel like I should be driving you to school, too.”
Her friends would say he didn’t deserve her, but the opposite was true. He was noble, and good. She’d finally found a good man, and that was the problem. A lesser person would revel in her youth. Her husband could only abhor it.
“We should stay friends,” he said. “I really do love you.”
She loved him too. The distance between the grew, and she had the forbearance not to close it. She watched as he met another woman, understood as their daughter gravitated more and more to her stepmother. It was natural, for the both of them. Her daughter looked older than she did now.
They always said if you loved something, you had to let it go, so that is what she did. She watched them grow old from afar and planted flowers on their graves, holding her memories close for her thousand years.