[ If Jill doesn’t know by now that there is nothing he would not do for her, he is certainly not a skilled enough wordsmith to convey that fact to her, but she knows. He knows that she knows. He has found her again in a land of dreams, beyond even death’s ability to separate them; what else could he do—what could any man possibly do to give further proof of his love and devotion? He could swear his life to her, swear to protect and comfort her through life’s toils and travails, swear devotion beyond reckoning—a love so fierce and true that it would live on long after the truth of their lives and their struggles faded from history—and it still would not be enough.

… But it would be a start, wouldn’t it?

Spinning her once again, he holds her close in the moonlight, and his cheeks glisten with shed tears. He looks up at her with something like awe, like an adherent gazes with worship upon a goddess made flesh. She is everything in the world that is pure and beautiful, and he speaks without an ounce of reserve or hesitation. ]

Marry me.

[ But oh, that isn’t enough, is it? ]

What I mean to say is… that I would not presume to ask you to be mine, because you are yours and yours alone. But I would ask you to be with me, now and forevermore, because you have chosen me, and I you. Be with me, Jill, imperfect as I am. Be my wife. Please.