At least she’s used to loneliness. Used to the grievance of it, the way it felt settled on her. Because loving her had been lonely, in its way, with the tidal nature of their love – coming together only to leave again; a series of moments that they stitched together to make a quilt resembling some kind of romance, and it was paltry and strange but goddamnit, it had been theirs.
Now she should not be so lonely because a dead girl’s heart beats alongside her own.
Now, she can’t leave – except she already has. To the one place Cordis can’t follow.
She almost doesn’t notice him. Once, she would have been on a hair-trigger – especially now, lacking her magic, lacking the lightning she’d so clothed herself in, a warning sign in silver.
Now, she almost doesn’t care.
But instinct is instinct, and her baser nature recognizes some rustling of movement a moment before he speaks – are you looking for someone? and oh, her heart breaks afresh – and she looks to him.
“Not anymore,” she says, which is the terrible, heart-wrenching truth – she is not looking because for once, she knows where to find her: in a pile of bones on the beach.
He gives him name. She half-hears it.
“Cordis,” she replies. The words sound distant, like echoes.
I’ll touch you all and make damn sure
Cordis
that no one touches me