The first time I met Awan, she was weeding one of the Academy’s many gardens. (I was later to learn from the chief gardener that she did this for free, claiming the work relaxed her.) On some whim, I asked her to share my lunch; she agreed.

There was something alluring about Awan – alluring and mysterious. Over the years, as I came to know her, she never lost that allure. I don’t know when I realized I was in love with Awan, but I was not terribly surprised.

I was surprised to find that she had fallen equally hard for me. We declared our commitment to each other by simply applying for a joint apartment at the Academy, as was the custom. Life went on, and I finally began to learn more about Awan’s family.

She had two brothers, she told me, and of them, Abel had always been the favored child. He had loved animals, apparently, in much the way she loved plants – and that was the only favorable thing Awan ever said of him. Her other brother, called Cain, had loved plants too; Awan told me that he’d taught her everything she knew.

There had been some conflict over the inheritance of the family lands. Awan’s parents were reaching the age where local custom allowed them to transfer the lands to their heir and retire, but while Cain was the oldest and should have received the inheritance, their parents favored Abel. So they decided to set up a test: the two children would bring their parents the best of their work, and the parents would then decide who was more worthy of being heir.

The test, as Awan related it, was rigged: not even the best fruits of Cain’s trees could compare to the scrawniest of Abel’s sheep, as far as her parents were concerned. So Abel took over the family lands, and the first thing he did was turn on Cain. The second thing he did was turn on everyone else. The local folk hated both brothers – Cain due to the rumors Abel had spread about him, Abel due to his cruelty – cruelty hidden behind a facade of kindness, so none of the local authorities thought anything was amiss.

It was around that time, Awan said, that she started leaving the town, venturing out as far as the Academy. She eventually gained admittance here, but continued to go back to her home from time to time.

Then Cain killed Abel.

Awan never told me precisely why, but she did not need to. Abel’s cruelty had continued to escalate, and the authorities had continued to turn a blind eye, and Cain had finally decided to deal with his brother once and for all. The specific act that motivated Cain didn’t really matter.

Cain had become a fugitive, and had never been seen again. Awan finished her story and lapsed into silence. I held her close, but she was tense in my arms, and we both lay awake all night, staring out into the darkness.

A few weeks later, Awan vanished. I was heartbroken, and took to sitting for hours in the Academy’s less frequented gardens, which seemed to miss Awan as much as I did. Eventually, as is the way of things, the pain of her departure grew less sharp, though no less present, and I returned to my routine.

Then, one night I returned late to my apartment, and found a man inside. His resemblance to Awan was startling: the same slender build, the same red hair, the same height. He turned, and I saw he had Awan’s black eyes, too, and I knew his name. Both his names.

“Awan.”

The man flinched, and his form blurred slightly before taking on a clearly female form. “I had hoped you wouldn’t guess.”

I could not seem to find anything to say.

An unsettling gleam shone in Awan’s eyes. “They were coming for me. I had to leave. Not that it did much good – they caught up with me before I reached the Roarer,” she said, naming the major eastern river. She held out her hands; her palms were criss-crossed with deep, raw wounds. I flinched, reaching for her, but Awan moved back.

“They’re finished with me now, but I still can’t stay. Too much is lost, too much is broken – I have to go.” Even as Awan spoke those last words, she’d slipped out the window, climbing quickly but awkwardly down the trellis, ignoring how her hands broke open and bled. She vanished into the night before I could even blink.

It would not be until years later, when I found the enlightenment that spans worlds, that I realized the enormity of what “they” had done to her. At a fundamental level, we are the same person across all the worlds; we just express ourselves differently. Whether or not we ever realize it, that connection between our selves is fundamental to our being – and the vengeful magi who’d hunted Awan down for the murder of her brother had shattered that connection – and shattered every one of her selves.

I remind myself of a fundamental tenet of magic: that anything a magi can do can be undone. I tell myself that I will find a way to heal my wife, eventually, for I am as much a magi as those who hurt her.

I only hope I am not lying.