Tempus is time.
Potentia is power.
Time is forever.
Power only corrupts.
Tempus and Potentia with hands held tight walked the streets of history to and fro.
Potentia drunk on the possibilities that are and could be poisoned rulers and lovers against each other.
Potentia’s blood lust wandered away until armies were decimated and countries were driven to dust.
Tempus tried to seduce calmness into Potentia’s heart, but Potentia’s eyes, which were dark as obsidian, glanced at her right hand and traced the shape of a bejewelled sword.
Feeling jealousy course through her veins, Potentia drove her sword into Tempus.
But Tempus didn’t flinch.
Instead Tempus reached out and reached into his aumonière and (with a tear or two) switched off the existence that is Potentia.
As Tempus traversed time, he smiled fondly and reflected on the conversations with Potentia that once was.
That smile widened in relief as Tempus realized that it never was.