I do not know. Perhaps you would circle one another, made wary by what the other might know. Perhaps the differences would be enough that you should not feel the need to prove the better lest you find yourself unneeded or replaced.

[ Soft words, careful, with all the kindness she can put into her voice and touch. That will not happen; being unneeded, being replaced.

Amused, then: ]

Perhaps one day I should find you both leaning intently into the same book next to two cups of tea gone cold, or plotting some piece of mischief suddenly made possible by two.

I should have liked to see it.

[ Sometimes in the tenses of Alexandrie's words her husband is coming back, and sometimes he is gone. A sentence ago it was possible, now it is like speaking of a beautiful sunset she missed; something her heart could have loved, if it had been given the chance.

She closes her eyes and turns her face into Loki's palm with the same fragile smile that had kept company with her earlier tears. A breath, a soft sniff, and then she opens her eyes again and turns the smile to him. ]

How are stars made?