And her face ... Her dark eyes were filmy,
her wrinkles deep. Her thinned hair white as
snow.
“This is a truth you cannot outrun,” she
said, her voice a croak. “A sword above our
heads.”
Her deathbed. That’s what this was. And
the hand he brushed against hers—it remained
young. He remained young.
Bile coated his throat. “Please.” He put a
hand to his chest, as if it’d stop the relentless
cracking.
Faint, throbbing pain answered back.
Elide’s breaths rasped against his ears. He
couldn’t watch this, couldn’t—
He dug his hand harder into his chest. To
the pain there.
Life—life was pain. Pain, and joy. Joy
because of the pain.
He saw it in Elide’s face. In every line and
lily
(lily)
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