[i]She is the only one to ever complete me.[/i] It really has been a long time. Oberon didn't marry on the previous world, the one with all the technology and lasers. Nobody there was right for him, he had said. It was a world to be pillaged, and even then not much. He was a man who preferred the inherent magic in things: his collection was full of the dagger of midnight whatever and the keening scythe of some river that he probably froze over. Things that were mass-produced, even if powerful, did not delight his fancy and the people who delved and tinkered were not people that caught his interest. 

*****
Kazelia walks demurely behind her Father. He's taking her to get changed, she's trying not to think about the moment, biding her time. It's easier to be somewhere else, to let her body move on autopilot while she reflects back on some of the memories she's privileged to have. They're still distant-feeling, those memories. No longer lost to her, but like someone else's life viewed far a few feet away. Her heart was frozen for so long, she's so young and so old all at once. 
*****

The last time Oberon had said that...hmm, it would have been three worlds ago, perhaps? The one before the world with all its advanced inventions had been mostly barren, scattered steppe peoples who rode horses. Something of a good extended fight for a while, but a disappointment to take. Oberon hadn't even intervened personally, he'd spent the whole time delving in dungeons, looking for the people who [i]must[/i] have come before on that one. But the world before had been rich enough. That one had been mostly barren, but there were great rivers running from the heart of the world every which way in some kind of grand pattern. All the leylines of the place had been water, and around each twisting, flowing line that lead to the world's heart people had sprung up to live and thrive on the floods and their bounty. Little pockets of rich people with the strength and magic of water, but with travel from point to point long and dangerous. At the center, there had been a queen of rivers and rainbows, the magic of mist and spray. Ashisha, she had been called. It had been different from the crystal and rains of the Illuminans. Ashisha had perched on a throne of crocodiles in the center of a rushing rapid and sipped from a golden goblet when Oberon first came to her. She had not tried to cast him out as Ourania had. Water knew better than to face ice and she hadn't Ourania's power (nobody had, which had so often been the point). Instead, she had invited him to sit and eat with his family and her loyal guests, the representatives of the animals and spirits of each of the great rivers. Perhaps she thought he could be more agreeable, perhaps carve out a frozen river for himself and settle a boreal valley for his own. 

Either way, he grew wild at the glorious feast, the golden goblet, the beautiful drapes and dresses that the spirits wore at Ashisha's calling. He had said then [i]She is the only one to ever complete me.[/i] The wedding had been glorious. He'd even permitted her local traditions and married beneath a waterfall. He hadn't frozen it immediately. But it did freeze, the heart of that world froze, and as Ashisha grew weaker and weaker, Oberon gave her less and less of his attention. He busied himself visiting the kingdoms and seeking tribute. Gathering people and tools as was his wont and giving the people to Mother Void when the time was right. Always the same story.

When he'd said it then, it had been several worlds. Before that one, there had been the queen of some well-settled world who lived in luxurious gardens each ordered exactly to her liking. He had appreciated that, but his vision was only for his own order and she had ultimately chafed and been imprisoned a month or two after the wedding with little ceremony.

Before that that had been two in a row, one sun queen (not near Ourania's stature) and one moon queen in two worlds that were together in the vast void, but separated, in a sort of spiraling magical orbit. 

And of course, long ago, there had been Mother. Real Mother. He had said of her [i]she is the only one to ever complete me.[/i] Once to his daughters when they lived together in simpler times that lacked great magics but were rich with honeyed bread and freshly-made butter. And then a second time after they had left, in the cold, alone, as they walked through the storm into a night that never ended because he wanted them to know that he was good and worthy of them, and speaking well of their mother might do something like that. Even if it was an obvious lie. 

*****

She's getting changed now. What was she wearing? Something poofy, Oberon's image of the perfect little daughter for his wedding, the only one of his children left to attend now. She dreamily let herself be dressed, but she insisted on keeping her spear. It was a symbol of her station, after all and Oberon did always traffic in hierarchy if nothing else.