“They’re all there,” he said softly. “All your compositions.”
“But,” I choked out. “They were destroyed.”
“Oh, Elisabeth,” he said. “Did you truly think they had been lost? I treasured your music as much as you. I kept it safe. I remembered each and every little thing you ever wrote; after all, had you not played them for me your entire life?” He chuckled. “Did I not say that I was a copyist once?”
Tears fell from my face to stain the paper in my hands. I closed the portfolio to save me from ruining his labor of love.
“You played them for me; now you should go play them for the rest of the world. Finish the Wedding Night Sonata, Elisabeth. Finish it for us.”
“I will write it for you,” I whispered. “For my immortal beloved.”
It was close, so close to what I wanted to tell him. I love you, I insisted, but my lips would not comply.
“Play it for me,” he said. “Play for me, my dear, and I will hear it. No matter where you go. No matter where I am. I swear it. I swear it, Elisabeth.”
A name came to my lips. I tried to lift my hand, to hold it against his cheek, to tell him I loved him.
“Will I see you again?” I whispered.
“No,” he said. “I think—I think it is better that way.”
Even though I had expected it, his refusal still struck me like a blow. But perhaps he was being cruel to be kind. We would never again truly be together, would never again feel the touch of each other’s hands upon our bodies. Not even in the thresholds of the world, where the Underground bled into the world above. I had had all of him. I had tasted all of him. To see but to never touch … I would be a woman in the desert, forever thirsting for water she could see but never reach.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
No. But I would never be ready. This day and the day after next and the day after that would be full of unknowns, full of uncertainty. And I would face each one as I was, Elisabeth, entire.
“Yes.”
He gave me a nod, more a gesture of respect than agreement. “Then,” he said. “The whole wide world awaits you.”
I walked to the edge of the Goblin Grove. I placed my hands against the barrier, invisible yet tangible. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself to push through. I stepped past the barrier, and into the forest beyond.
For a moment, I stood there, beyond the edge of the Goblin Grove. The air, warm and mild, did not change, did not grow cold. I had crossed the threshold, and there was no going back. And yet, still I lingered, unwilling to go, unable to stay.
“If—if I could find a way to free you,” I whispered, “would you walk the world above with me?”
My back was to the Goblin King; I could not face him. It was a long time before he answered.
“Oh, Elisabeth,” he said. “I would go anywhere with you.”
I turned around. His eyes deepened in color and for a moment, just for the merest glimpse, I could see what he would have been like as a mortal man. If he had been allowed to live the course of his life, from the child he had been to the man he would have become. A musician—a violinist. I ran back into the circle of alder trees, wanting the circle of his arms around me. I reached out my hands, and his fingers brushed mine, but we passed through each other like water, like a mirage. We were each nothing but a shimmering illusion, a candle flame we could not hold.
And yet, the Goblin King was still here, in the Goblin Grove, with me. He stood in the Underground while I stood in the world above, but our hearts beat within the same space.
“Don’t look back,” he said.
I nodded. I love you, I wanted to say. But I knew those words would break me.
“Elisabeth.”
The Goblin King was smiling. Not the pointed smile of the Lord of Mischief or Der Erlkönig, but a crooked one. Twisted to one side, lopsided and goofy, it cracked my heart open and I bled inside.
He mouthed a word at me. A name. “You’ve always had it, Elisabeth,” he said softly. “For it is to you I gave my soul.”
His soul. I held my music—our music—to my heart. We were sundered forever, never to be with the other again. The grief shattered me, broke me into sharp, jagged pieces. I wanted the touch of his hand, for my austere young man to put me back together, scarred but whole.
But I was already whole. I was Elisabeth, entire, even if I was Elisabeth, alone. The knowledge of it gave me strength.
I straightened my shoulders. The Goblin King and I held each other’s gazes for the last time. I would not look back. I would not regret. He smiled at me and pressed his fingers to his lips in farewell.
Then I turned and walked away, into the world above, and into the dawn.