I know the exact moment the last drop of life leaves her body. It's the same moment life leaves me, too.
So strange. I didn't think I cared so much, yet here I am—staring with disbelief at my Maya's pale, motionless face, her green eyes staring into the afterlife. Her flesh is still warm, but it's an empty vessel. No warmth left for my soul.
And I was helpless to prevent it. All the spells that could sustain life or heal injury, rendered useless by the cruelly effective swiftness of death…
I am thrown again into the cold, lonely void of existence. It's a familiar place. I spent decades in it, warmed up only by dreams of revenge and simmering anger.
There are certainly thoughts of revenge and anger now, but they only chill me more. I have to act. To do *something* before that glacial cold consumes me whole. Before the last drops of heat leave the body in my arms.
Why hadn't I protected Maya better?
